When we test our worth
In the eyes of the storm
And our worry, we allow tick like the clock
When fear wraps its coldness around our dark heart
And our hopes dry off like brooks in the desert
.

Then, we would proceed to look for hope
In its littleness. Oh!
The rose that blooms in adversity
The weed that peeps from the cracks of our wall
We will hold on to the memory of these little things
.

Hence, our sours songs and tiring talks
Would begin to taste better and sweeter
Our sore eyes and running noses
Would begin to see clearer and breath faster
We would have something to hold on to

.
With its littleness standing out
We will leave our creaks and march off
Step up, look up and never give up
Because a tiny ray of hope
Stands on the specks of a girl's eyes
Dances in the tiny flavor of our food
Plays on the smile of a baby
Sits on the sweetness of a lady
.


We would owe ourselves one favor
To forge on
We would labour all day long
Rest assured, still in awe
That we were like an engine propelled
By those little things


.

Wrote this for a magazine...