The little things that count<br>
are microscopic now<br>
because I never told you this<br>
<br>
Beneath the windowsill<br>
among the daffodills<br>
and in between the sliding doors<br>
<br>
The incidental music cues<br>
the incidental muse<br>
<br>
A flock of mourning doves<br>
a pair of riding gloves<br>
a cup of joe with heavy cream<br>
a feather, dreamed<br>
<br>
It's not important that<br>
I never said goodbye<br>
and that I lived to tell the tale<br>
<br>
And beneath these short remarks<br>
like faded watermarks<br>
there lie single hopes I've lost<br>
<br>
The incidental music cues<br>
the incidental muse<br>