I find it very likely that my life
Will be a good one - it has been so far.
It lacks the greater part of woe and strife,
And all the perils that so often mar
Otherwise fruitful lives. I find it so,
And yet I still complain and natter on
About the problems that I've come to know
No matter how minute. I used to yawn
And say that's how a life will always be:
Compared on its own terms, not absolute,
And therefore troubled when the boundary
Of what is usual is crossed...but screw't.
I'd rather keep my mouth more closed hereafter
And think of present joy and future laughter.
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