To Each His Own Poem by Patti Masterman

We're born alone, and so we die,
Alone, no use to fuss or moan-
Each living thing must face the truth:
We drink our cup of grief, alone.

The smallest mite will feel the pangs
Of discipline, and hearts of stone,
Revenge exacted, full, complete:
He drinks his cup of grief, alone.

The older ones learn all too soon
There is not long one can postpone
The common lot of man and beast:
They drink their cup of grief, alone.

All creatures born, at last confront
There be no pardon or atone
For random guilt that living brings:
They drink then that last cup, alone.