Happiness could use some recognition,
A word or two of pleasure and of praise.
Perhaps it's not a matter of cognition.
Perhaps it needs the help of holidays.
Yet there is ample cause for unshed sorrow,
Hapless housemate one can't leave behind,
Old comrade that will still be there tomorrow
Lest one lose the past and go forth blind.
In holidays there is a happiness
Deep and wide enough to hold the whole,
A truth that is too subtle to express
Yet satisfies enough to still the soul,
Serving as the gift that pays the toll.