Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good. -Amy Lowell Gifted with wings of butter and gold, Out he came from his silky mold. Enjoying the breeze and the morning sun, Fluttering his wings , the journey had begun. No more a life than a phase of the moon, But such a sorrow in his flight is not borne. A small gust of wind does make him sway, But he does cheerfully make back his way. [photo by droid] He settled onto a bed of flowers, Embracing 'em as though lovers. He moved on from one to another, Sucking honey as a baby from the bosom of his mother. He lingered around each of them long, Dancing to a perfectly crafted song, And etching every moment in his memories, Moments forever treasured and savory. Alas! Now it is time for me to g
