The Worth of a Soul


Behind ev’ry face,

There is a room;

A room filled with

Tons of drawers.


Hidd’n in these drawers

Are bounteous things

The secrets of which

That person only knows.


There are dark secrets,

Black secrets,

Blue secrets, red,

The bright ones we all know are there.


The black ones are sins,

The dark ones mistakes,

The others, explained,

Take all day.


Whether the drawers

Holding these secrets

Are large, medium, or small,

It’s not ours to say,


Or compare good deeds with bad,

And judge their worth from that.

‘Cause don’t we all have

That room full of drawers?


And don’t we all know sorrow, too?


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