The Tears
They do spill down,
that I can see,
but my dear honey bee,
are they tears for sure,
or is that mascara and rouge,
minced and churned,
by the teary like substance,
that came out of your eye,
when you did laugh your stomach out,
in a nasty snide on some poor bloke,
as suggested by your facal expressions,
that do not grieve of mourn,
I think you are more corn,
than forlorn,
so they are tears but not sad tears,
for a visage like yours,
they would come out in years.
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