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.