Four drops of tear

That first drop colourless but saline,
Ruined many moments very sheen.
Though fluid was its texture,
It had all powers of a sabre.


When the second one started the voyage,
It was time to quit the rage.
Gaining pace down the soft mountain,
It turned to a kohl fountain.

Dark was the way and the destination too,
When the next drop followed first two.
It carried all the hope and the confidence within,
Washed were the fossil and traces to begin.

Fourth one had to be the last, the end of all aghast,
Remnant of courage had to turn all stones sassed.
It was time to realise and set new goal,
With all the virtue and respect towards inner soul.