Happiness is achieved, walking
for you on a blade’s hedge.
To our eyes, you are a glimmer that flickers,
afoot, stretched ice that cracks;
and therefore shall not touch you who loves you most.

If you reach upon souls pervaded
by sadness and brighten them, your morning
is sweet and unsettling like bird nests on high.
Yet nothing comforts the cry of a kid
whose balloon slips away among the houses.