In the small of my back and the crook of my neck
I feel that my soul has become but a wreck
Imagining clouds of a sweet, somber white
Causes my pain to become feather light
Away in balloon, my mind takes me away
From the sweet smelling sadness that I tend to stay
Melancholy’s nothing, I see marigolds
Its right to view life as it slowly unfolds
Never to change it, leave well enough alone
Even if we would rather be some kind of clone
So how do we come by this feeling content?
By relaxing our mind so as not to regret
Things we don’t have and goals not achieved
We choose, then, to sulk and always to grieve
Comparing “what’s yours” to “what’s not” of another’s
Prevents us from acting real kind, like brothers
We can’t have it all and we can’t have our way
We can’t keep it all – Why not give it away?
Look for the ones who do not thrash about
And look for the ones ever timid to shout
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