How I Would Paint Happiness
by Mirosław i Joanna Bucholc
Something with no effort.
A flying one who need not use its wings,
soaring on invisible wind.
A bird bestride the salty air
above the blusterous sea,
currents beneath the waves
as boisterous as the ones above.
A seagull riding a warm thermal rise,
gliding through buttery blue,
carried like a babe in arms.
A feathered one, a happiness,
cavorting beneath the galaxies
in the Mother’s rollicking sky.
A seagull playing in the Middle Way.
©Susa Silvermarie 2025
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