Dry tears

Upon a time, some far in west,
There said to be a fish that cried.
Not out of sadness, nor out of grief,
It did because inside it died.

To struggle for a moment brief,
To flip its tail inside the stream,
To swim with vigour through the dream,
But dreams in it have also died.

Upon a time, in mountains west,
A skald has picked a story shard
Of fish that life was all but blessed.
Who cried because its life was hard.