Happy

Happy was a feeling she hadn't felt for a while,

But as it returned, God, was it wonderful.

As though all the dandelions swept back to her arms,

The daisy chains tied themselves to her ceiling

And 'twas a starry, starry night for all,

For all whose presence was made.

"Good evening," bade the doctor, tipping his hat,

His genuine smile peeking out from under his lustrous moustache.

"Good evening," bade the nurse, curtsying modestly,

Her head tilting with all its lovely blond hair allowing thick waves tonight.

"Good evening," bade the soldier, lifting a hand to salute,

The traces of a grin masked by his battle scars and weathered gaze.

"Good evening," bade the mother, gathering her children about,

Before they could turn out of her sight, and out of mind, and thus drive her completely mad.

And so they danced the long evening,

A whirl of every color in every skirt and every collar,

Hands pressed upon hands, gloves to gloves, and noses to noses.

Happy was a feeling that ran rampant tonight,

And 'twas a starry, starry night for all,

For all whose presence was made.

Author's Note

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