Tell me where the good things come from,
I'll go there more often
For I have to mend my glum
And teach my heart to soften
Come they, from the people I love,
Or from the people who love me?
From a hut with thatched roof above
Or from a church with an unanswered plea?
From the city where I left my heart
Or from the tree I cuddled with?
From the book that taught art
Or from that ancient Celtic myth?
A queue of questions I throw in,
And you simply say, from within.