I was told I have strong broad shoulders, the kind made to cry upon.
I was given a soft heart, the kind to heal woes.
My arms were crafted to cradle the hurt, the injured as they wept.
My shoulders are damp with tears, the left is soaked with sorrow, the right flooded with greif.
The place in the middle is drowned with the heartbreaken tears of lost love.
I feel the pain of all of these tears as they stain the shoulders of my shirt.
I hold softly to the maidens and soothe their troubled hearts. They leave me with dryed eyes and a damp shoulder, ready with hope for tomorrow.

But I can't help but wonder....
Who's shoulder do I cry upon?