Silently, wipe away these drops,
down the hazel eyes, calmly,
for kings not to be seen weeping.
In weakness, a strength is blazing,
alike the shaking barley,
and time passes with its healing.
Lunatic, thy mind may it be,
no wonder, in solitude,
for kings, on the tops their seating.
In the meadows, what daisies fear?
but rains send their gratitude,
while their golden heart gone beating.
In heart, a world of passion sets,
even though the gloom abounds,
for kings, by hopes, are learning.
My child, none in you believes,
their loss, and my win astounds,
and pray that fates keep turning.
Theater is that we all to play,
and such are our velvet dreams,
for kings, in their dreams, believing.
Patience upon patience galore,
as thy heart gets tired of screams,
while the hazel beauties grieving.
Wipe away, my child, the damn drops,
those tears scream aloud in me,
for kings never to be seen crying.
Over, all should be and they must,
and that smile bounds back in glee,
to me, I, and my own sighing.
For kings, run the fortunes high,
and for kings, the highs and lows,
for kings are kings by their making.
A king you are despite the tears,
despite the winds, and their blows,
For kings, O child, must be shaking.
(ABCDBC - 8,7,8,8,7,8)