My friends all say I am an optimist,
But all I know is that half-glass of hope,
It’s not that I foresee another end,
Nor wish for something more than that to cope.
I guess it’s more to do with where I stand,
The angle of the rose-light to my eyes,
I know what will become of this event,
Acceptance is a handy knack of mine.
Pray you see the coming storm ahead,
Barre yourself against the wind and rain,
Only when you see the worst of it,
Draw the best from it and start again.
I can’t pretend that all I’ve done in life,
Has ended just the way I wished it would,
It’s just as fine to look at rivers run,
And say you’ve done the best you always could.
It’s not an optimism which I hold,
It’s realism in a sense I think,
It’s happiness in face of all that’s there,
I’d say it’s habit more than anything.