Will I not run out of tears, when pouring forth,
My sorrowful laments in ceaseless streams?
Ah, no! They flow as rivers of the North,
Unyielding, like a poet's boundless dreams.

For in each drop a world of woe resides,
As deep as oceans with their foaming tide,
And like the dawning of an autumn morn,
A constant sorrow lies, forever sworn.

No sunlit path can dry this weeping eye,
No summer's breeze can ease this heavy heart,
For in love's absence, tears shall never dry,
And from this well of grief, I'll never part.

Each tear a testament to love denied,
A painful ache, forever magnified,
Yet every salty jewel that gently falls,
Is but the echo of love's fervent calls.

Oh, Sun! To see your...