In happiness do I exhale
For joys that make me sing,
In contrast with what I don’t like—
Not my thing
The beauty of a sunrise
Or a rose with dew’s soft touch,
But cloudy days of gray and rain—
Not so much.
A book of lovely poetry
To sit and read awhile,
But stories filled with tragedy—
Not my style.
A tinge of autumn’s briskness
Or springtime’s breezy measure,
But summer’s high humidity—
Not my pleasure
A walk in the park with my sweetheart
Or a meal by candlelight,
But times when we must be apart—
Not my delight
The hymns at church that soar to heaven
With lyrics that inspire,
But rap or heavy metal—
Not my fire.
Anticipation of a trip
Or a special memory,
But sharp words or an argument—
Not for me.
A fresh baked chocolate cake
Or pie and cookies sweet,
But any kind of fish in a dish—
Not my treat.
A visit from my family
On a special holiday,
But all alone while others meet—
Not my way.
In happiness do I exhale,
For joys that make me sing
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