No talent for happiness
Is what Samuel Beckett said

I feared him when I was younger
Meaninglessness ahead

His Dublin bridge, behold the beauty
A Celtic harp where my feet led

As I walked the Irish night
Heard of rebels who fought and bled

I’ve known some joys, not just depression
But rebel songs, they are not dead

**** these racist phobic fascists
And, like Sam, resist instead!