Happiness is a word with a rich soul. It is a word that when held up to the moonlight, reminds lovers of long nights. It is a slow, thoughtful smile, and it is a quick, kicking grin. Happiness is an expression that best sits on our skin, or what we wear on the cusp of our sleeve. It’s the promise of return made by a leaf to a tree.
We make it with sugar and sun. I make it with beer and fun. I make happiness with laughter and songs, I make it with football spirals and barbecue tongs.
I find it it in conversations with friends, packed into small little places, and I find it outside in the woods in the wide open spaces.
I find it in my wife and my son when they ask me, “when will you be home?”
I find it when I’m in the car, with no destination, no agenda, when I’m all alone.
It lasts as long as novelty will let me hold on and often leaves so slowly that I’m heartbroken the second I discover that it’s gone.
It lasts in small pieces often not knowing when it starts, it lasts in ways that the sum of the pieces are greater than the parts.
It is elusive at times, my addiction to rhymes
A figured lyric or verse, a cup of coffee of course
If “love” had a soul that everyone could see, it’d be “happiness” rooted deep, growing slow like a tree.
We make it with sugar and sun. I make it with beer and fun. I make happiness with laughter and songs, I make it with football spirals and barbecue tongs.
I find it it in conversations with friends, packed into small little places, and I find it outside in the woods in the wide open spaces.
I find it in my wife and my son when they ask me, “when will you be home?”
I find it when I’m in the car, with no destination, no agenda, when I’m all alone.
It lasts as long as novelty will let me hold on and often leaves so slowly that I’m heartbroken the second I discover that it’s gone.
It lasts in small pieces often not knowing when it starts, it lasts in ways that the sum of the pieces are greater than the parts.
It is elusive at times, my addiction to rhymes
A figured lyric or verse, a cup of coffee of course
If “love” had a soul that everyone could see, it’d be “happiness” rooted deep, growing slow like a tree.