So by what measure is life deemed unjust,
When kings and beggars have of each  their reign,
Though one by rags and one by robes be blessed,
Each heart beats out its rhythm just the same.
A pauper oft in simple meals rejoice
Where to a king a feast seems mere routine,
While seldom pleasure’s oft the wiser choice
When rapture stands the fancy to esteem.
There of contentment less is often more
Where too much more results in being less;
And happy days are relative by score
Though each, by time, are equaled in that test.
In matching measure, men eke out their days,
And more or less, exult in different ways.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.