I'm sure it has always been with me,
This feeling for everything small,
A little blue-tit, a gambolling lamb,
I want to protect them all,
A small yellow chick, with soft fluffy down,
How vulnerable he seems to be,
I could gather him up to keep him safe,
For he's such a delight to see.
 
It's not only animals small which appeal,
I like little cottages too,
There's always a feeling of cosiness there,
With a welcome for anyone who
Would care to step into this quaint little room,
Which so small, is really so wide
As it opens it's arms to a stranger or friend
Who wishes to come inside.
 
Every small flower is special to me,
A daisy with petals so white,
In fact any flower that grows in a field
For me is a magical sight,
Let men have their orchids, all colours and shapes,
Which are all in hot-houses grown,
I still prefer buttercups, yellow and small
For they, by the wind have been sown.
 
Loveliest to me of things which are small,
Are a baby's minute little hands,
With fingers and nails so perfectly formed
And small wrists, creased into bands,
Big may be beautiful, but I don't agree,
For I find that the tiniest things
Have a special beauty, all their own,
A beauty to which one's heart clings.