I just noticed that I messed up my last one, using "fast" instead of "past." Need to check my glasses, I guess. Here's another:
Most people do not have much fun depressed,
but me, I love my nights of gloomy rain
and gusts of wind that put so great a strain
on every branch where I might put my nest.
Only then, despondent, am I blest,
because I can't be free without a chain
wrapped twice around my melancholy brain
and placing all my thoughts under arrest.
For me there cannot be a bigger blast
than watching all my prize begonias wilt.
A traffic jam can sometimes make my day.
I guess it's just the way that I am built.
Joy is just a phase that, once it's past,
allows me my more grounded form of play.
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