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Poem	No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; he may not own his roof-tree overhead, He may be on his uppers and have hocked his evening dress - (Financially speaking - in the red) He may have chronic shortage to repay the old home mortgage, And almost be a bankrupt in his biz., But though he skips his dinner, And each day he's growing thinner, If he thinks he is a winner, Then he is. But when I say Success I mean the sublimated kind; A man may gain it yet be on the dole. To me it's music of the heart and sunshine of the mind, Serenity and sweetness of the soul. You may not have a brace of bucks to jingle in your jeans, Far less the dough to buy a motor car; But though the row you're hoeing May be grim, ungodly going, If you think the skies are glowing - Then they are. For a poor man may be wealthy and a millionaire may fail, It all depends upon the point of view. It's the sterling of your spirit tips the balance of the scale, It's optimism, and it's up to you. For what I figure as success is simple Happiness, The consummate contentment of your mood: You may toil with brain and sinew, And though little wealth is win you, If there's health and hope within you - You've made good.
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