Lambert Shao

Happiness, when spelled with just an I,

Is that which most adults try to beget,

But youths so often spell it with a Y,

But why mine has an I, I do forget.

The sunrise in the late spring has suppressed

The wondrous mystery the night had cast.

All of the dreams that we had left oppressed,

In autumn rise to plague us till the last.

The Y, once lost, is never found again,

Experience is what doth make us wise,

But in itself it brings a dreadful bane,

The golden age of man meets its demise.

Strong is he, enlightened ere his doom,

Who wields it to grasp happyness in bloom.