Any Human to Another

The ills I sorrow at 
Not me alone 
Like an arrow, 
Pierce to the marrow, 
Through the fat, 
And past the bone
Your grief and mine 
Must intertwine 
Like sea and river, 
Be fused and mingle, 
Diverse yet single, 
Forever and forever. 
Let no man be so proud 
And confident, 
To think he is allowed 
A little tent 
Pitched in a meadow 
Of sun and shadow 
All his little own. 
Joy may be shy, unique, 
Friendly to a few, 
Sorrow never scorned to speak 
To any who 
Were false or true. 
Your every grief 
Like a blade 
Shining and unsheathed 
Must strike me down. 
Of bitter aloes wreathed, 
My sorrow must be laid 
On your head like a crown
Category:Catalog