Just a Taste
Maybe it is a dream, this time of contentment,
something not quite real, but real enough you feel it.
And in a life so full of darkness
not as real as you felt it,
this is heaven.
About this poem
I don’t always have a vocabulary of happiness. Such poems are almost always short.
The picture was taken at the edge of town.
Vermont is lovely. It’s funny, but when I cross the State line into Vermont I can feel it.
I know what you mean. When I first started coming here, before I moved here even, I felt the same thing.