She wept tears of
sweet honey, on the day that she wed,
And floral were her
teardrops, upon her new virginal bed,
Sugared sweet weeping,
on the birth of wanted small sons,
But her crying turned
to salt, with the passing of old suns,
With brine washed
cheeks, she aged with flowing of the years,
Garbed in widows weeds,
she sobbed, her acrid vinegar tears.
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