I envy the fool, he’s happy
While he dwells in penury.
I’ve had wealth, friends and knowledge,
While he’s had nothing extraordinary.
How can that fool be so happy
While he’s sleeping in the street?
With the stench of drains to accompany him
And his alarm, the plod of feet.
Why is that fool not unhappy?
His unfurrowed brow is trouble-free.
While I, with my blessings and prestige,
Am so displeased, I wish to flee.
I know why the begging fool’s so happy,
Though I clench coins in an iron fist.
The same reason my heart’s never yearned for a mother-
What it never had, it never missed.