Little Things

“It’s the little things”

that’s what we say

those little things

a gesture

that look across a crowded room

the smell of falling rain

cupping his face

one last time

as his silent eyes look up

from a white room garnished

with wires, tubes and monitors

 

the little things

forgotten by most

remembered by one

if at all

he brushed her hair

the mother that lingered

in body

but not in mind

his hands held the brush

until liver spots

found them too

 

little things

it’s the little things

that hurt the most

 

©2018 BY STEVE DENEHAN. PROUDLY CREATED WITH WIX.COM

  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Twitter Social Icon
This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now