Cyclical

There are few things that bring me as much joy
As seeing you be happy. But you're not.
And your unhappiness becomes a blot
That makes all other pleasures seem to cloy.
I wish I could have waved a magic wand
And made you smile honestly and true
But rather, when I look across at you
I see your face is fallen, sunk, and wanned.
I fear this cycle and the way it seems
To make me sadder when I see you sad
Depriving me of how to make you glad
By my own happiness, ripped at the seams.
But let that go; I will be here, and stay
Until I make you happy in some way.