And he wept sore,

he knew he could do no more.

He wept sore,

he knew not,

what was in store.

He wept sore,

he knew not a lot,

but he did know the score.

He wept sore;

the one he claimed to love,

she picked up and walked out the front door.

He wept sore,

he wept long and hard,

then he crumbled and fell on the floor.

Eva Santiago Copyright 2011