How happy is happy enough, as he says he is?
Enough to not be depressed, morose, sad, bleak.
Enough to get on with the day, go and do,
accomplish small things, have a laugh, chase the dog.
Enough to enjoy a meal, read a book, sleep and dream,
awake reasonably renewed to face another simple day.
That ought to do it, oughtn’t it? but somehow doesn’t quite.
oh I love all your poems!
Me too! It was a feast day of KayFoley poems! A banquet!
Well, thank you both! I know I have been remiss and honestly have felt like I haven’t much to offer in the way of poems. I’m glad you still like them!