I am a wise, yet enigmatic text,
A commentary on human life.
Some say I’m pessimistic, hopeless and vexed,
While others find comfort in my strife.
I speak of vanity, futility, and time,
Of grief, labor, and what’s fair.
My words are a warning, a cautionary rhyme,
To anyone who thinks life is all just rare.
I ask, “What’s the point of it all?”
Is it pleasure, work, or fame?
Does our toil and striving really matter at all,
When we’re all headed for the same?
I lament the passing of time,
The cycles of life and death.
And yet in my sorrow, there’s a hint of a rhyme,
A glimpse of hope beyond life’s breath.
So tell me, what book am I?
A challenge for the wise.
A puzzle for the curious and sly,
A journey for the restless mind’s eyes.
The answer is Ecclesiastes, from the Bible.