them

and their fireworks, their firework

spectacular – as if there isn't

the commonplace good! what of

quiet beauty blind

to its audience, uncaring

of applause?

  

what of birdsong at dusk and

the smooth flight of swallows? what of

rain, and the particular stillness of lakes? what of the sweetness of friendship in bloom, an accord reached without words? what of the tininess

of a baby’s fingers, the warmth of a genuine smile; the smell of your mother’s hair and the first hint of spring? what of the blue of the sky, coming home from the cold, the sound of your own heart

beating?

 

what of the good that goes unpolished

and is all the finer for it?