Dave Bonta's short poem sketches a person who looks at the world and sees no tatters, no flaws. That's the idealist of the title, and the poem is quietly unsure whether this is admirable or a little suspicious. The idealist waves goodbye to bad news politely, almost like seeing off a guest, and the "kind farewell" suggests gentleness rather than denial with a slammed door.
The last two lines carry the twist. This person is "rich already / with what he saves in sorrow." The phrasing is odd and worth pausing over. It could mean the idealist hoards his grief, treating sadness as a kind of treasure, or that by refusing sorrow's company he saves himself from spending his feelings on it. Either way, the wealth is bittersweet.
The speaker's attitude seems tender but observant, neither mocking nor fully convinced. The mood is calm and reflective, with a thin shadow of sadness underneath the hopeful surface.