Towards the Final Struggles

I am not afraid of tears, at least mines.

They washed my body and eased my soul,

having vanished for so long.

Perhaps they do not realize all strength

given to me by soothing past times.

At age, my mind is modeled to think that

it is not worth weeping, for life is trouble.

I want to turn to my early days,

to my youth, my infancy, and learn anew

to cry whenever I fall down; then weep

prettily enough to please longing.

No one ever need or must see such tears,

that will pour from my innermost being,

then work warming and pushing ahead

to final struggles compulsive a fighter.

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