The Low-Humming Engine
It isn’t always trumpets or a grand , sweeping parade ,
Sometimes it’s just the way the light hits the shade .
The first sip of coffee
steam tickling the nose ,
Or the silent triumph of finding matching socks and clothes.
It’s a low-humming engine, a soft-padded seat,
The quietest victory in a world on its feet.
Not a shout from the rooftop or a gold-plated prize,
Just the peace that settles behind tired eyes.