Classic Poem

Baby cries for the moon in vain,
Or he chases through the lane,
After bubbles as they rise.
Or the lovely butterflies,
So do we, our whole lives through,
Like the baby, chase joy, too,
Looking for delight in life —
See it vanish in the strife.

Or we grasp a long sought toy,
And we find it part alloy;
Like the baby, our obsession —
We'll be happy in possession;
Seeking in some new endeavor,
Pleasure that evades us ever;
Missing all the blossoms growing
Along the way that we are going.