Good Life

A little sigh can hold a universe
And make a world out of a simple phrase.
But often such a world is purely worse
Than what is real in very subtle ways
The sigher does not know - for worries sigh
And take the worrier into his fears,
Giving the comforting real world the lie,
Implying bloodshed, absence, hate, and tears.
A safer sigh, from longing or desire,
Is still no likelier to touch the truth:
It looks and sees the dying of the fire,
The dwindling of handsomeness or youth,
Forgetting charcoal burns hotter than wood.
Ah friend, it is the life unsighed that's good.