If I were a happy man,
I'd share my happiness with you, you bet,
and we'd do all sorts of happy things.
We'd walk through my garden and sniff the flowers,
exulting in the subtle mingling of subtle fragrances
with the unsubtle buzzing of bumble bees.
We'd lie on our backs at the end of the dock
and watch the clouds like ships float slowly by
and dangle our feet in the water.
We could go out on the back porch and shuck fresh
peas,
noshing on the sweet, green pods. We could.
With our bandannas tied over our faces, we could ride our mustangs like a pair of outlaws across the wide Colorado prairie. Maybe.
We might buy a new vegetarian cookbook and spend six months trying all the recipes. Yes!
Or we could, maybe slip into the family room, sling on our guitars and sing old John Denver songs till our throats ran dry. And then quaff a fresh cold lemonade.
And just think, we could have a picnic in the woods, just the two of us, and maybe get romantic after lunch, and maybe even, well, you know, get close, or somethin'.
Yes ma'am, we could find us something new every single day, you and me,
if I were a happy man.