Awake for the smallest of things, I promise I am not stuck up; My heart, a gift, it beats and brings All but a line to pick-you-up. A kiss-off, an awakening For the weak mind and strongest soul; As for me, I am hastening Towards little things that make me whole. Books, jobs, the nubs now nudged aside, To lovely people I pay heed And wonder if love conceals pride, And if not, then which do I need? Caught in feelings in my own race I look out for a subtle hug; Above love’s alarming, warm embrace, I spy the laurel, yes, so smug. Selfish, little, petty, my mind Cannot fathom my soul outright; For soul, to crown, of sins remind That snow turns black and never white.