If happiness didn’t visit
me the entire last year,
it was not happiness’s fault.
I, her sullen brother,
couldn’t bring
myself either
to visit
her home. Travelling
so far
in a pensive mood,
to her yearlong carnival of joy
what farce,
I didn’t even try.
In revenge, she swore
enmity from a heretic ground,
and gleamed wickedly.
Or perhaps it’s me who’s insufferable,
improper and wrong,
for so long
this curse is upon me
that happiness and I are
at odds
for unknown probity;
although it’s not her fault.
It’s not happiness’s fault at all.
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