When a shrewd business practice pays the overheads our tribute
When exploiting the needs of lesser minds remain mute
When raking money in becomes by nature a stroll
When right and wrong a blurr as we justify the toll
And later tired eyes pulled open by wrinkled brows
And we realise the size of the wind chased still blows
Happiness was the value misspent with loved ones our tribute
Happines was a beggar or widdow helped kept mute
Happiness was the grip of a loved one on your arm on a stroll
Happiness was before stress and sickness claimed your soul
Arno Le Roux
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem