top of page

humble, small, little, and kind

Humble, small, little, and kind.

Water trickling at the beginning of the time.

Smoothing, breaking, taking with it bits of rock.

Just so similar is it that she grows.

From something unheard,

to something wild and unhindered.

Maybe gracefully,

as the river flows from source to sea.

Or all at once,

she lets herself be.

Breaking through cement and space,

she is delicate dirt and black lace.

The mother of feeling, in all its forms.

The wake of 3 a.m.,

and the hurt of some dawns.

She’s the riverbank's constant cutting edge,

and the bridge’s rail-less ledge.

Have you ever felt the calm of a winter’s night?

Under the stars, and in the frost’s bite?

The moon is big, large, and magnetic.

It pulls her towards something bigger,

though she can’t see its ending.

Leading with her heart into great uncertainty.

So too the river begins, and mountain grows a spine.

Humble, small, little, and kind.

33 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Fluid like water in a bay, the tide comes in and takes the simple mind away. Left underneath are shells and stone, cracked open and exposed. The mucky land is dirty and undesirable. Can you make somet

bottom of page