I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart.
Nor can my tongue unload my hearts great burden,
For self-same winds that I should speak with,
Is kindling coals that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flames that tears would quench.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief...
Tears then for my precious daughter and wife,
Blows the only revenge within me.
© 1992 - 2008 R. G. J.
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