Tears of Sadness, Tears of Joy
Don't think I'm anybody special, now:
I'm just an old friend standing at your door.
They said your house was here, and being poor
Of treasure, tired and footsore, I asked how
You might be: Do you smile much, or frown more
Than erstwhile lover's memory allow.
They said you look away with heavy brow,
As though a happy thought that came before
Flew far on promise of a swift return.
But still you wait, chin resolute in hand,
For word of him who by your door now stands.
I hesitate -- I pull the latch to learn
If tears of sadness or of joy I raise --
Or may be blended in lovers' embrace.
Copyright © Robert Sprinkle | Year Posted 2016
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