Happiness is rarely
As other voices jockey for the lead.
Perhaps it is most comfortable as bass,
Pleased to underlie the others' grace,
Yielding to their histrionic need,
Holding up a fragile harmony.
On holidays, however, it becomes
Less self-effacing, stepping forth to sing,
In moments filled with labor, love, and longing,
Deep descants on the beauty of belonging;
After which, again retiring,
Yet not before the harried heart takes wing,
Softly at the base of life it hums.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon