We dawn in life with palms uncurled,
Hearts trembling soft to pain unfurled.
A wail, a laugh, a comfort near—
We savor joy, and hush each tear.
Like rain’s first fall, this tender start,
Unpriced, untraded—a giving heart.

Yet soon the world intones its lore:
“Take more,” it whispers, “Always more.”
We hunger for gain, with guarded eyes,
Each kindness weighed as profits rise.
The silent rule: to strive, to take,
While gentle souls are forced to break.

The scoreboard glows with who prevails,
The frail fall silent in the gales.
Compassion’s cost now coldly fenced—
An overhead, a line expense.
We march ahead, hearts turned to stone,
With wealth amassed, our mercy unknown.

But irony is swift and sly:
The gold we grasp, it will not buy
Solace for age when shadows press,
Nor arms to hold a loneliness.
Too late we taste the bitter cost—
We spend our years, compassion lost.

And age, in silent, sovereign grace,
Reveals the toll we dared to chase.
We ache for warmth felt once before—
Now vanished in pursuit of always more.
The heart, that studied greed so well,
Now yearns for kindness none will sell.

Children, watchers at the edge of play,
Where grown-ups crown their cold ballet—
Hold close that love you brought to birth;
No gold will buy such silent worth.
The circle spins, the spiral turns,
And calloused spirits once again yearn.

So may we measure, in the end,
Not what we own, but how we mend—
A jest, a riddle, or a plea:
Let’s count our wealth in empathy.