Happiness is like a beautiful flower,
With shelf life so very low,
Everyone wants to have it forever,
But then its charm would soon go.
Why is it that we run after it?
While it follows us,
If we stop and look behind,
Only then shall we find.
Rich feel they can buy,
Poor struggle hard till they die,
And it resides with those who are kind.
So are we blind?
It is always around if we try to see,
To patient and humble it’s easy,
For rest it’s difficult and tricky.