I've Been Teaching My Eyes To Cry

With a photo out of an old mount I've been teaching my eyes to cry. Looking at you, questioning why, why, you on earth vanished into nowt Leaving me like the morning dew displaced on the lawn yet to be mown cut to manageable distances my anguish grows at such lengths. You leave me in desolate pastures. Interweaving grief till it wretches my soul, I am a woolblind sheep. baaing, baaing far from the fold. Could it be any worse, my child? I guess with the adage of old age I could become wise and mild. But I'd rather teach my eyes to cry. And lie in a ditch myself to die. Then live with these briny tears. That has now wrung out dry. Into saltpan lakes, wasteland frontiers...