The Tear Collector

One window and one door
and a table with a vase.
A collection of teaspoons,
some ornate, some plain,
await to catch my tears,
collecting every last one,
in the vase on the table.
Never leaving this room,
dedicated all my time,
much sadness to catch,
nervous to face outside.
I don’t know what to do,
my vase is overflowing.

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