I should have written far much more about
just—being quiet. Being soft and still.
I should have said a word or two to tout
the little things, and not with grandeur-swill.
I did, a little, but not near enough,
say what, I think, is better than the rest:
to get rid of the ringing, rousing stuff,
replacing it not with what’s good, but best.
And very little is best, after all.
But now I want to say some profound thing:
the best is not great—but is rather small.
The best is not loud, but the quiet thing.
To put it in its most succinctly state:
the best is good: the simple more than great.