to endless positivity

may we be strangers, but strangers who smile
through gray clouds of “could and would,”

and live like children, but children who value
a drop of happiness over a liter of gold,

and maybe I seem like a naïve creature, with
too many cupcakes and too little sacrifice,

but even ruddy-faced farmers' wives weep
loving simple lives, with frosting to the lip,

and eyes to the sky.