Windows

They call them the windows to the soul,
Ah what a beautiful soul it must be,
To allow the windows to glisten in the sunlight like they do,
Benign though the world is,
It can be somewhat harsh,
But hush little Lala,
One day the rain will stop,
In the meanwhile, Lala,
While the storm rages on,
Swaddle in a blanket,
And wait for the sun to come out,
For when it does come out,
Your eyes will glisten again,
Like limpid dewdrops on a droopy leaf.