-- The Well-Spring of Our Joy -–

John Herlihy

Who can account for the well-spring of our joys,

As in childhood, when we thrilled in our little toys.

What of their origins that they overflow so much,

Our happiness overflowed in the affection of touch.

Make a penny disappear and a child lends its smile,

Even the appearance of magic captures for a while.

One man’s passionate love draws another’s distain,

There is no accounting for taste to linger and remain.

Joy in morning light as it shines down upon the river,

The sweet taste of honey to make one’s lips quiver.

Snow-capped mountain peaks that speak of silence,

A silence that enters the soul as a form of reliance.

The joy of Chinese lanterns as they cast their glow,

Or limitless reflections that mirrored panels bestow.

The eyes glitter, hearts flutter, the hands clap in joy,

Permissions given to feel happy as a mere decoy.

The bow of a violin can draw on our heart strings,

To play a loving remembrance as the heart sings.

Who can account for the disappearance of our joys,

Our dark moods play truant using all kind of ploys.

A single frown may stale the freshness of morning,

The slightest whiff of bad new puts us in mourning.

The slightest attention can make us feel anointed,

But to be ignored only makes us feel disappointed.

Your silence not always affirmation, at times a lie,

If I break silence to speak truth, I turn the bad guy.

Life’s hardships never last long, do little to annoy,

Nothing can ever empty the well-spring of our joy.

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(c) John Herlihy 6 January 2019