The Little Things

It is hard to be grateful when your soul is on the floor,

When you can no longer remember anything you are thankful for,

But then a little voice says, 'Mummy, it'll be okay,'

And their little hand drags you through another day,

You sit and eat together, leftovers from last night,

But you smile because if you can eat, it will be alright,

The wind hammers the creaky roof above,

The roof that shelters you from harm, protects your love,

Before he went to sleep, 'I love you, Mummy,' he said,

Two little eyes closed, safe and sound in their bed,

You unscrew the bulb and embrace candlelight,

You are sleepy, but have enough wick to read one chapter tonight,

You lie in bed, grateful, yet still you weep,

As you lie and pray for a good night's sleep.