Each day I see people who make it, who succeed

and I view them with jealous eyes, envious of them

when each day I work hard to live, struggle till I bleed

as by their standards, I barely grow my own stem.

I sleep with bitter feelings, hating those who have more

riches and fame, the very things that make them happy

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residing in the penthouse, while I rot on the bottom floor

living a good life when others feel miserable and crappy.

Then I think about the things that make me content

bringing love and hope to my heart, and never do I hide

when I'm down and my vigor is scattered and spent

my energy returns with a big hug from a loving child.

When I'm with them, the anger and sorrow leaves

as our children are a gift, one not everyone receives.