There are so many little things
that make up life’s stretched years;
and pausing now, to list them,
I find my payments in arrears
for moments that have come and gone,
each adding to my store
of seeming insignificance
that whole, is so much more
than pieces, parts and bits of dust
drawn from the world’s extent
and left upon my doorstep, freely,
no charge evident.
The big gifts, they may thrill and make
their first few days so bright;
but soon, their glamour fades and dulls
like day will turn to night.
But little things, they will remain
beyond their seeming use,
bind fast together one’s whole life
and never let it loose.
So I am thankful for the small
and plain and unobscure;
For in the presence of such things
my faith in life is sure:
That every action, though unseen,
unnoticed by the throng
still makes a ripple in the pond
and sings, with its small song
That music humming underneath
the bustle of the world –
the little seed from which, in spring,
a flower may uncurl.
For these small things, and others too,
I thankful raise a toast;
And so remember, for a moment
just what matters most.