Happiness is found,
not in comfort,
not in pleasure,
not in riches.
For all these I have had in bitter anguish.
not in distraction,
not in amusement,
not in addiction.
For in constant busyness our hearts languish.
not in security,
not in possessions,
not in position.
For all can fail without warning or whim.
not in recognition,
not in praise,
not in adoration.
For fickle and feckless is the love of men.
Where then can we find the one thing for which we all long?
I am afraid the easy answers, though ubiquitous, are wrong.