A Good Day

Why is it that when I write a poem,

I'm always angry,

Or upset,

Or empty?

I've just had a wonderful day,

With nothing to share,

And everything to thank.

These are the days I live for,

The days that help me survive.

Those last two lines I wrote...

Well,

I've written them three times,

Because...

I guess...

I can't stress just how...

Beautiful,

This day was.

And I won't tell you why,

Because you'd laugh anyway.

But that's not the real reason,

For not telling why.

Words...

Well,

Words won't live up to it.

I've written this last line,

Two times,

Today.

Today was a good day.

The End

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