I am the quiet music in the background

That none can hear

Unless they were listening for it

I am the single drop of rain

That a little girl will brush off her cheek

Without even glancing up at the sky

I am the static that the radio plays

Until the young man in the driver’s seat

Turns it off in disgust

I am the squeak of an old violin

That has yet to be thrown away

For its strings no longer sing 

The way they used to

I am the forgotten teddy bear

Sitting on the top of a dusty bookshelf

Looking down on the bed

In which I used to sleep

And yet I call myself most:

Happiness