The smallest things

The smallest things poem by Lucy Beckley

And so it becomes the smallest of things,
The everyday,
Droplets of joy,
Squeezed out of the most mundane.

Voices may rise
And tempers will flare
Time will stretch,
And slow,
As walls crowd in.

The path ahead unworn,
But I look to the moment of coming together again.
With renewed sight.

When the sun,
Is the most welcome warm embrace
The sound of rain
A refreshing refrain,
Permeates the stale.

The freedom to walk,
In the open air,
Within fingertip touching
Hip brushing

The chance
To chase the rainbows,
To laugh,
To run.

To unmask the frown,
Turn it into a crown,
Of everyday ordinary joy,
Worn with pride.

The simplest of pleasures
A kiss,
A soft hand squish.
I savour them now,
Forever more.

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