In man’s fractured odyssey through life’s plane,
What marks the zenith of his mortal gain?
Is it boundless wealth, a deified shrine,
Or the fleeting awe of a fickle design?
Is it in accolades that he finds his worth,
A prized possession, his soul in mirth?

Nay, the truest measure of man’s essence,
Lies in his heart’s boundless effervescence,
An open vista, a fountain of grace,
That shapes his path with a noble pace.

For in the weave of kindness and charity,
Lies a realm of enduring serenity,
A serenade of grace that eternal will resound,
A triumph rare, in time’s transcendent ground.

So eschew the weight of worldly gain,
And seek the solace of a noble domain,
For in the gentle acts of compassion and care,
Lies a success divine, a triumph rare.