can exuberance be far behind?
Hearts swell with pleasure,
a prize of destiny's whim.
A gift unexpectedly given,
forming bubbles that rise
like pockets of gas to explode
into the atmosphere happily.
You attribute pleasure to your
being open to accept it.
The strange dance you perform
is a by-product of your gaseous state.
What isn't owed to joy, gets hung on fate.
**
From "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 17, 2016:
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