The Breath of Happiness
By John Herlihy

Today I take pen in hand,
To write about happiness.
I look to the heavens grand,
And shudder at its fickleness.

Happiness begins on the fly,
On the breath of gentle wind.
But ends with the note of a sigh,
And tastes of bitter lemon rind.

It lies quietly in the bed of others,
Amid soft blankets and puff pillows.
It grows in the garden of my brothers,
In the shade of the weeping willows.

For me, it does not give nary a care,
Its wind blows onward forever more.
I have only to look around and stare,
My happiness lost on a distant shore.

If not happiness, then we have sorrow,
Stolen moments of today and tomorrow.
Sorrow that flutters like feathers on wings,
Buried deep in a heart that no longer sings.

Simple joy to arrive as a guest unbidden,
As I roam idly through the city crowds.
My only happiness lies quietly hidden,
In the dark shadows of passing clouds.

Do not ask for a thing not rightly ours,
Happiness lies not in wind but breath.
To be found amid the passing hours,
Moment by moment until our death.