Unlucky Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

The greatest discovery one can find,
Is the doing of their own thing.
With a doing that comes to occupy the mind.
And to do it done not to express what it is,
Time after time...
What it is that has been found to bring to them...
Such a satisfaction that qualifies with it given,
To leave them devoted to a feeling left unspoken.

Experiencing a joy and happiness daily felt,
Is like loosening one's belt...
Each moment one prepares to dine upon a feast.
While others digest thoughts of being unlucky to confess,
And finding no enjoyment at all...
To duplicate what another has found,
That has been a life long quest!
Yet others observing interpret this as 'luck' one gets.

'You quack too much.
As if born a duck.
Why don't you give that up and be the rabbit you are.'

~But rabbits don't quack.~

'Exactly!
How many times have you been told that? '

~But I would find more luck 'if' I'd been born a duck.~

'Pursue with a doing to be that rabbit.'

~What is it that rabbits do? ~

'That's on you.
I'm a duck.
And discovering 'that' has made me too happy.'