Happiness you feel as an artist, born from sorrow,
Romanticizing loneliness, embracing tomorrow.
Happy in solitude, with thoughts alone,
Describing a painting, where stories are sown.
Thousands of tales untold, light worn thin,
Wordsworth’s daffodils sway in the wind.
Death in the woods, a spiritual father near,
Spiritual heroism, facing the fear.
Writing poetry, suggesting the world we can make,
Habituating this life, for our own sake.