Strange tears of joy fall from a single eye
Where one stands alone and looks out from the thatch
Wherein the pouch emerges, as well
Strands clinging to it but not hiding it from view
Any more than the single sentinel who sometimes bows
And sometimes stands to stiff attention
Bidden or otherwise
What lips will kiss such a standing one
Lead it away from sorrow to a happiness that gushes forth
A drilling well
Take those tears away when they come again?
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