Knowing what I know
Still I cry - tears flow
Out of me like a river
Like the story my mother
Would tell me as a child
When I would cry nonstop
Before bed. The grief was
Terrible but one I can bear
Others had it harder I hear
So the story went if I kept
Crying I would float away
Each drop building - so
perhaps my tears are for him
Because perhaps he couldn’t
Or wouldn’t shed not one or two
and definitely not enough to fill
a river - so I will