When people cry they feel relief
Their pain is washed away
Tears can comfort the sting of grief
Or a feeling of dismay
A poet's tears are different indeed
For they form into a word
An ever growing poetic seed
A feeling that can't be heard
The paper becomes the poet's sleeve
As they wipe their tears away
Their words will form an intricate weave
Deciding what they'll say
Each teardrop has a life of its own
As it trickles down their cheek
It stains the paper, their seeds are sown
Their tears begin to speak
So listen close when poets cry
Though it barely makes a sound
You'll hear a soft and tender sigh
When all their words are found
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