I have so few, such very minor, cares
That those I have can catch me unawares
And quite disturb the day. Yet even those
Are never mine, but only yours and his.
Still they contrive to keep me on my toes
Prepared for a perpetual pop quiz.
Yet I am not discomforted at all;
My own small problems lighten as they fall
And bubble off to nothing. I can't be
Unhappy as myself, nor do I borrow
Too many cares - yet I seek hopefully
To be considerate of others' sorrow.
So on my own, I never can complain,
And therefore look to bear another's strain.
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