Happiness, that ever-elusive lass,
Men, tall, short, young and old alike,
Pursue her, here, there, till they pass,
Yet she remains that needle in a hay-stack.
I did my share of chasing,
Sweating, panting, I kept reminiscing,
What sent me down that perilous path?
Pursuit of happiness, Ah! It is no mirth.
Then I thought, perhaps am doing this all wrong,
I should hold my horses, wait, she would come along,
Alas! It wasn’t long before I saw her up-yonder,
A rare beauty she was, it made my heart ponder.
Could such mirth be freely given men?
No strings attached, just a simple amen?
The chase abated, I had found purpose,
Happiness abounded, in that old rugged cross.
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