It must be the small things that make the difference
The birds singing in the morning light
It must be the small things, some near some distant
Have we really  become beauty resistant?
To moonbeams chasing sunbeams
Sunshine filtering through green clad glades
Memories  I treasure are haunting my dreams
It would be funny, if it wasn’t tragic
We are losing the plot, forgetting the magic
Why are these pockets of joy too hard to find?
Why do we ignore the small things
Why are they forgotten, when did we leave them behind?