Must it always be naysaying.

Do only the nihilists have content?
Is doubt the best use of the pen?
A jilted love, life full of pipe-dreams.
Is the good dog dying again?

We laughed at the country tune’s losses,
The cheating heart, booze drowns the tears.
The runaway child.
Or the old truck all broke.
Is that the accretion of years?

What came of a Baby’s sweet laughter.
The song of the Robin at morn.
The ache of the muscles well purposed.
The yarn of that Ship round the Horn?

We must give our voice to well-meaning.
Some hope for the hurting or Lone.
The Sun does rise up after night time.
Some fruit of the laptop, well-honed.