tough call....

​I was sad all day, and why not.
There I was, books piled on both sides of the table,
​paper stacked up, words falling off my tongue.

​The robins had been a long time singing, and now it was beginning to rain.
What are we sure of?
Happiness isn’t a town on a map, or an early arrival,
​or a job well done, but good work ongoing. 

​Which is not likely to be the trifling around with a poem.
Then it began raining hard,
​and the flowers in the yard were full of lively fragrance.

​You have had days like this, no doubt.
And wasn’t it wonderful, finally, to leave the room?
​Ah, what a moment!

​As for myself, I swung the door open.
And there was the wordless, singing world.
​And I ran for my life.
—Mary Oliver, Work, Sometimes