Happiness, Crocus In Snow
What is happiness but the falling away, however short, of suffering?
Would I hear the haunting, beautiful wind without
the small spaces created by my earphones?
Would I know the joy of a child's laugh
if I didn't yearn for it to erupt from my own belly?
The sight of the first yellow crocus
could not be so kind without the cruel snow
that tries to hide it.
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