The Real Tears

Those melancholic eyes and downturned lip, Resembling not so much a whining dog As sorrow crafted with a stagehand’s whip Or acted by some theatre’s thespian cog, Did glisten once with tears of salt and truth, Conveying more the fear of a gazelle Than mocking looks of crocodiles uncouth; And thus protective instincts came to swell. With words of consolation and replies Of wordless love addressed upon the ear, I tried to tease out sweet chirrups and sighs, And out the pores the flaming fever steer. Ebullience half-drowned by th’urge to weep Recalled the duty love had made us keep.