Certain rows of dubious flapping tongues
Have questioned what is termed 'your happiness'
But I stand mute
For I see
You hold the gift of mirth
And that is worth more than
All the lines of tears
That can be licked from analytical lips
i believe that is how the poem went. i am certain i have a copy of it somewhere. perhaps in my parents attic. it was written for me while i was in high school by my best friend (at the time and for many many many years afterward. we haven't spoken though in well over ten years) phillip
(i had told him a story of how my parents brought me and my sistettes, while we were all little grrrls, on a road trip to mt equinox. it was NOT a pleasant trip)
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