By: Darrelyn L. Tutt
The portrait of a man’s success,
Distinguished as a noble guest;
Replete in certain form, attire,
Familiar with the word acquire.
The hat is tipped, the common bow,
And all discern the noble brow;
The able man of wealth and pride,
Who blinds the weak and starry-eyed.
His name is known upon the street,
Yet few are those he cares to greet;
And thus, we see, the inward shell,
Is quite an empty place to dwell.
I looked and did behold, again,
A pauper midst the common men;
A heart of kindness, good and true,
Extended hand to more than few.
The providence of God had been,
Securely anchored deep within;
He gave to give … without respect,
And not a thing did he collect.
I marveled as a I did compare,
The different men with different stare;
And saw the one so amply dressed,
Was not the measure of success.
The humble heart so true composed,
The works so outwardly exposed;
Reveal a certain truth of old,
Success is not attained by gold.
This revelation stark and true,
Should cause the heart to think anew;
What is my measure of success,
And does my love define it best?
“Will you set your eyes on that which is not?
For riches certainly make themselves wings;
They fly away like an eagle toward heaven.”