Little Things
It can mean a lot.
In the tub, rub a dub, dub.
My Mom gave me a mug.
I filled it up and tossed it.
I am a little thug.
Little things can mean a lot.
There’s more to gold than glory.
Discreet low, key, and circumspect
It often makes an interesting story.
The least auspicious people
Often have the most interesting tales to tell.
Understated attitudes
Wealth in their wishing well.
In between their actions
And shades of subtlety.
A treasure to be cherished
The magic of you and me.
I’ve been bashed by the bombastic.
And we are bombarded by extroverts.
On radio and commercial TV
We were blasted by too many megahertz.
Circumspect is what suits me.
Listen more than being heard.
See the tree inside the forest.
And within it, the rare bird.
I’ve read many unique epistles.
Penned by pensive scribes
And tirades from the tormented
Minds mixed up in diatribes.
A mix of meditation
Tuned with tales that people tell
Unobtrusive low-key, and likable
Casts a special magic spell.
Words like wings of eagles
Spread wide to glide away
Stories arcane and unparalleled
The quiet people say.
And as I rub and scrub again
There is no limit to what I can do
I fling and sing
And work out my frustrations too.
©
David Rudder
2022
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