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Is that look he wears

When the sun goes down;

The quiet satisfaction

That another day has passed

Without quite breaking him in its grasp.


Through a crowd of others,

All insignificant, oblivious,

His gaze is locked on hers.

And his face is stricken,

A picture of lostness and despair

She simply cannot bear.


An anguish bone deep

He can no longer conceal.

But he won’t bother to

Beseech his tormentor,

Expecting no mercy

And craving no quarter.


He accepts his lot is

To be brokenhearted,

Vilified and damned.

Won’t stretch out his hand

To save himself;

Declines to even lift his head.


Nothing to be done

But weather the storm.

Circumspect and brave,

Endure, endure, endure.

He’ll stiff upper lip them

All into the grave.


Video from Katya Aristova on YouTube