You may see happiness
As solid sheet of sumptuous
Red Damask cloth,
Richly ornate with gold.

I think of happiness
As a patchwork quilt,
Made of so many
Pieces of scrap fabric
Lovingly arranged in endless
Vibrant patterns,
Where the darkest, most desperate hues
Find a place too,
Alongside those lively and bright

My own
Is ever changing, as I add
More fragments, more colors
And in so doing, I choose to play
With placement and shapes.

No single scrap prevails, no one
Stands out alone, but even
The smallest piece contributes
To the final design.

I work at it incessantly
A bit every day, and yet
I’ll never finish my quilt:

When hands grow old and weak
I shall pass it along
To those who cultivate,
Patiently,
The same craft.