Poetry

Now we will be happy, happy, happy
and lordy, lordy
happy and happier still
happy running down the happy hill.

like two happy rills and more
hoarding the strands of their song
into a happy orotorio
falling down, down, down, headlong

running to calm cadenzas of pooled skill--
run, run, run, run, run:
if happiness, mind you, were the moon
I'd grab both its horns and hang on.

Now we shall be happy, happy, happy
and happy, happy we'll
be happy and happier still
happy running over the happy hill.