Why can't she write poems when she's  happy?

They're all just

"Once upon a time

There was a ......

And she was ......."

And something happens

Then more stuff happens

But none of it is very interesting

And she fears she is in danger of

Living happily ever after.

But along comes sorrow 

With its angst and

What ifs?

And its need for

Deep profundities.

Its search for the perfect

Turn of phrase

To hold its fragile body

Of work.

Its resounding proclamation

That all is not yet

As it should be.

Oh joy! There is still work to be done.