It’s funny to think of one’s self as materialistically poor,
When all one’s wants can be counted on the fingers of the hand,
And all the things that one has are great and uncountable in number.
It’s funny to think of one’s self as not having lived,
When all the wealth could not buy the feeling,
But thankfulness for what good one has solves this problem of the heart.
It’s funny to think of one’s self at all,
And not wonder at the great blessing of the thought,
Yet neglect one’s happiness from gratitude, for grief,
For the unquenchable desire of the world.
