She lives in the best house at the end of our street,
Her husband runs a business that no one can beat.
She owns such beautiful dresses,
Always looking like a fairy in those long tresses.
Her life seems to be perfect,
There is not a single defect!
I can’t stop myself being envious,
Although she has done nothing devious.
I wonder about this feeling in me,
why is she more blessed than me?
I keep asking this day and night,
As if the one who blesses, would answer my plight.
“Oh you ignorant! You ask about blessings?”
Was a question I heard when I was sleeping.
“Can’t you see she has lost her only child.
She cries for it every day and every night!
Her house may be pretty but her life is not.
There is an emptiness in her heart,
About which you know nothing of.
So count the blessings of your own.
There’s no use in sulking over things unknown.”