Poetry / For Granted

The day’s not particularly bright,
It’s quite cloudy, in fact.
But I think that I might
Just be able to enjoy it.

The grass is not particularly green,
It’s a little yellow, in fact.
So what, it’s not fertilised,
I can live with that.

Nothing here is perfectly pure –
The tank is growing mould, the house is getting old;
But I think that that’s alright,
It’s not the ugliest sight.

My possessions are in the majority second-hand,
I’m not the most beautiful in all the land,
But I can enjoy the waves and the sand,
The mountains against the sky.

What has happened to us,
That we now take perfection
For granted?

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