True Metaphor

I went to the river and sat upon a rock,
And cried my tears, 
Into the river of grief, 
Great sobs into the clear water,
That leads to the sea;

I washed away the tears,
And drank the cool water,
And felt the love,
For that which I had lost;

And saw the pettiness of all the games I had played,
To deny my grief, my love, my fear,
The boyish immaturity of 'manly forbearance',
How each morning I had stuffed my grief inside its clothes;

And as I trod the path back to my home,
Felt one with all the creatures and trees,
And the setting of the sun behind the mountains,
And for once I did not resent her for my death.

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