Days were happy.
Head was light, not above the clouds really but gay enough to smile.
Though my hand was not so painless.
AND it hurt to ride my bike,
I was happy somewhere down.
And days passed more quickly.
Mistakes men do.
Some foolishly some knowingly,
And then I fear I am distant now,
from my very source of happiness,
Strange thing , helpless me,
Even with mended hands and feet.
Joy you cannot feel.
Why so? Ask I.
It's all in your mind-She says.