Happy Day. I wish you a happy day.
One where, for you, everything goes right.
One in which everything goes your way.
A day which contains, for you, much delight.

Happy Day. Some days can be really great.
Can include something that’s memorable.
For you to have such a day, ‘not too late.
Lots alright, but this one exceptional.

Happy Day. You could become euphoric.
Realisation make you ecstatic.
The rise of joy may be meteoric.
And reside within you, most emphatic.

Happy Day. You deserve it. You’re living.
‘Blow you away’ with all it is giving.


There is such a lot that is unexplained.
Maybe to us is unexplainable.
Limited, extent of knowledge attained.
Beyond certain point, unobtainable.

Like, how is it we come to be living?
I mean deeper than just reproduction.
And before conceived, what state were we in?
Why developed this degree of function?

Consciousness, and the brain’s operation.
Its multiple, integral, connections.
The potential. Is there indication?
Belief systems. Why the imperfections?

After death, of course, have no idea.
So much which just don’t know. That much is clear.


Human-kind. That characteristic great.
Kindness. Acting altruistically.
I believe gift of compassion innate.
Lots of examples empirically.

Exhibiting a caring attitude.
There, a generosity of spirit.
There’s no doubt, people have the aptitude.
When encounter distress, want to give it.

It must come from the same place as love does.
Women often have it in abundance.
And ‘gentle men’, because not all rough stuff.
To help another through, it is some chance.

It’s a redeeming factor of our kind,
kindness that’s shown, having been brought to mind.


What I leave behind is my poetry.
There won’t be anything physically
that can be considered as left of me.
So my verse is what I dream there will be.

I do not know whether or not will be
remnants remaining residually,
but unlikely, realistically.
Just me, now, being imaginary.

If asked what of mine I would like saved first …,
from disposal, or from being dispersed,
or put in the trash, they’d be nothing worse
than my wish denied, … that it be my verse.

But this is where ‘impermanence’ a curse.
As if only dry dust to quench a thirst.