His Share of Sorrows
By John Herlihy

Over many a year, he has suffered his share of sorrows;
At times so many, they all seem like endless tomorrows.
You wake up one morning to something most profound;
True sadness most sorrowful that seems to hang around.
Life’s sorrows begin to add up with an irresistible speed;
If you let them, they take on the aura of a religious creed.

He drives all his sorrows out of the house with a broom;
From cellar to attic they disappear, and nothing assume.
Sorrows have the tendency their own shelf-life to outlast;
He preferred to finally shove them blithely into the past.
He never resorted to drown his sorrows in his own despair;
Sorrows have their own moment, he left them in his care.

Neither did he casually talk about his sorrows with others;
Everyone has their sorrows to deal with, even his brothers.
Who needs them, their misery he experienced and knew;
They take up much need space, stir emotions into a brew.
As I say, like most people, of sorrow he’s had fair share;
They have their moment, but his heart they never ensnare.