Our eyes tell the story, when we look we can see, a man of obvious wealth, impeccably dressed,   all the best.

Clearly he has it all, or so it seems.                 Fine clothes, fine wine, any and all                      are at his beckon call.

But it's what we can't see that hurts him as he swallows his gin; there is an emptiness inside   and it's growing within.

One glance and we think that he has it all  and yet he knows that his lot is terribly small.

Sadly for him, what he wants  just cannot          be bought; although he'd give his Porche, his Rolex, the lot.

And while our families gather at least once a week, and we play with the grandkids and a great meal we will eat, he sits alone in a bar,       knowing that we have it all.