HAPPINESS

Hilda Stob Poetry
December 1974

THE SUN SHINES INTO MY WINDOW,
BATHING MY DESK WITH LIGHT.
GOD IS MAKING IT SUCH A BEAUTIFUL DAY,
AND EVERYTHING SEEMS SO RIGHT.

THE BIRDS ARE FEEDING ON BREAD CRUMBS,
HOPPING IN THE NEW FALLEN SNOW,
LEAVING TRACKS ALL OVER THE WHITENED YARD,
TELLTALE SIGNS ONE GETS TO KNOW.
MY FAVORITE SQUIRREL’S TRACKS ARE THERE.
HE MUST HAVE HEARD THE BIRDS,
AND VENTURED FORTH INTO THE COLD,
IF PERCHANCE IT WAS TRUE WHAT HE HEARD.

I’M SURE HE TOO HAD BREAKFAST
ON THE SLICE OF TOAST THAT WAS LEFT,
AND CARRIED IT OFF TO HIS PRIVATE RETREAT.
A CHANGE FROM THE NUTS IN HIS NEST.

AND SO WE LIVE TOGETHER
THE WILD THINGS AND I.
IN THE HEART OF THE INNER CITY,
IN PEACE, AS WE ALL SHOULD TRY.

 

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