Only What I Do Not Hold Is Mine


Happiness is not a

symphony

But a tune whistled into

the breeze…..

The bubble floating by,

Would lose its rainbows

When grasped

With rough and anxious hands

The beauty of this moment

Would lose its magic

When studied under the

microscope of reason,

So that all its translucent beauty

Wilts in the heat of enquiry

The intoxicating beauty

Of flowers in a dream

Would droop and fade

In the noon day of sober thought.

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