If you were truly happy, you would smile
each time a trifling pleasure went awry.
you'd wink your eye without a trace of guile,
and in the face of disappointment, sigh.
It would not matter much if now and then
things did not go the way you wished they would;
you'd take the loss, anticipating win--
a balance beam tipped always toward the good.
But no--you grit your teeth and agonize
each minor irritant and small defeat,
quite sure that every setback prophesies
a life of failure, total and complete.
Each cloud is lined with silver, though, my friend:
one of these days, its going to have to end.
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