It is a small triumph
That we wake up every day
See the clouds in the sky
Smell the freshly cut grass
Fill our stomachs with sugar
And treats
Leave enough room
For a freshly brewed tea
In our finest china cups
She smiles in glee
Perhaps it is just enough
To be
To breathe
To watch the clouds
To not be in pain
It is a fine line
Between triumph
And distaster
We have been teetering on it
For many years
The disasters stain our skin
Always there
Impossible to wash away
Or hide
Would we be without them
I ponder
They mark out our time
Our life
The dark years
Not the dark days
Which pepper our life now
We hold hands
And electricity flows through
Our veins
For this single moment in time
We feel triumphant
And that is good for me
And her.
