It takes little more than a kind word
To carry me through a month
To hold me up against battle
To force me, against trials, to triumph.

It takes little more than genuine praise
To burn a soul to memory
To lose all sense of proper speech
To fly unbound and freely.

And with a word comes a smile
I can't get it off my face
With a word comes gratitude
So potent my hands shake.

With a word comes a flattered feeling
That blossoms just under my ribs
With a word comes a jittery, happy panic
On which I cannot put a lid.

I laugh boisterously
I forget my usual frown
With a word I am lifted
And I will never come back down.