Tell me Grandad ...

Being happy my little kid
It is having eyes
Even in the window, behind awful glasses
Being able to see on a flower a blumbebee
Gorged with nectar tearing himself away to the sky

Being happy my little darling
It is being fascinated
By a drop of drew running on the edge of a virginia creeper
In a dazzling dawn under an emerging sun
Warm promise of a beautiful day

Being happy you know
It is being able to admire
In a golden sky blue of a woken up spring
A magnificient bird of prey that from up there
Does observe a stuned young rabbit
Who has just left its burrow

Being happy my little boy
It is being able to pace up and down
The scrubland of our Provence
Your hand in mine
A morning walk
Before a burning wind gets up
In the zenith of July

Being happy my little kid
It is when after the rain
A delicious and heady smell is raising
From the craked and dying earth
To thank the sky for its refreshing shower

Being happy you know
It is when at the end of summer
One can pick an apple in the family orchard
In a mecanical movement wipe it against ones smock
To then bite into its sweet flesh with gusto

Happiness you know is everywhere :
Laying down in a field, listening to the song of tall grass,
to the North wind blowing in a superb oak
Streams murmuring while polishing their stones

I wish you
Pure things and happiness
No need for honours or wealth
May an utopic future or silly promises
Never oh never harden your heart