Happiness Poem by Zog Gascoigne

What is this thing called happiness?
Can it really exist in all this trouble and mess,
Or is it the dream of long ago when things were simpler and life was slow.

Nowadays we race from place to place,
Not noticing people, things, or a lover's face,
With so little time do we ever see the sun shine?
Can we afford to stop and see the stars glistening in the sky at night,
Or take the risk to see a young child's delight.

In these modern times filled with aggression and hate, tension and grief,
Is there anywhere left for our long lost friend called happiness?