Then by what measure is dread Time unjust,
When king and beggar seeming have their reign,
Though one bright robes and one drab rags encrust,
Each heart beats out its rhythm just the same.
A pauper oft in simple meals rejoice
Where to a king each feast is but akin,
For seldom pleasure’s oft the more enjoyed
Than daily excess, much to high chagrin.
Then of contentment less is often more
Where too much more results in being less;
When luxury has not been seen before
Its taste will leave the taster more the blessed.
In matching measure, each eke out their days,
And more or less, exult in different ways.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.