Contrition

When she sobs her tears, the steady sound
Seems like the raindrops falling from the sky;
And forming puddles on the bone-dry ground,
That wend their way in rivulets or lie...
For sunshine smiles soon to evaporate,
Leaving barely a hiccup of moist earth
To recollect why there is no debate
When she is whipped for all that she is worth;
So let remorseful streams flow down her cheeks,
And let her anguish raise up such a storm,
That she'll recall her error for some weeks,
Before she's called once more here to perform...
A new rendition of sonata sounds:
That sobbing when contrition just abounds.