What is a tear, but nurture for the rose,
whose bloom makes bright the darkest of the night,
and dulls all things for not, but what it chose,
to save and wait for when the soul needs flight.

What void that fills a space before its time,
does too find deep the nothing of its place,
and rends the heart but for what is benign,
to reach the far-off end of this dark race.

What choice is this to give a passing thought,
to shed a tear and fill the earth with day.
for those who find they wish to sit and rot,
the trap of ease brings toll that they must pay.

This act is one that most will find in fear.
In truth its just the shedding of a tear.