Our traditions are full of our love,
in the little things we hold above,
all other things
the trust in our feelings
not the splendour, but the small,
the traditions we hold above all,
the kiss in the morning,
the embrace, strong and adoring,
the calls we share when we’re not close,
the connection we celebrate without boast,
the highest of love is shown to be true,
in every little tradition we do.

The grander traditions seem different this year,
no closeness to share except you, my dear.
The virus may spread,
and the light is far ahead,
but we hold onto our little things,
traditions extending from our true feelings,
time taken to gain familiarity,
with every part of our personality,
the cigarette by the door
and the time we take to explore,
our longing and our desire,
for the traditions that we acquire.

Our special moments are different now,
but we stay positive and cherished somehow,
the secret lies with the fondness
for our love which remains effortless.
A birthday spent indoors happens never,
but we still got to be together,
enjoying all our little things,
traditions made from new beginnings,
cooking together when dusk comes from day,
and walking slow, under a pretty sky made of grey,
my happiness is spent with you,
in all the little traditions we do.