The old philosopher could never grasp.
The secret of Happiness.
Morality and cynicism confuse.
Confusion blinds, undependable eyes.
Man ponders over imponderables,
Who am I? Purpose of Life?
Vexed soul, uneased mind.
Sigh, sigh, sigh!
The secret of Happiness, My friend.
Is to find a comfortable chair.
And grippped by the feeling
That universe is full of benign air.