The Little Things


My fingers trace 
the familiar.  

The stillness 
of the house 

The quiet 
of my heart  

Tenderness 
in your eyes.  

The blessings 
of this life 

The comforts 
we take for granted.  

Slipping 
into those crisp white sheets  

The scent 
of the Texas winds 
beneath my head.

I am home. 

*Copyright (C) 2019 Penny Wilson

12 thoughts on “The Little Things

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