Notch

The notch upon my well-worn belt, A tiny mark, cut keen and neat, Not for the feast that I once felt, But for the miles I walked each week.

It's not a trophy, gleaming bright, Nor carved in stone or shouted loud, Just leather worn, both day and night, A quiet sign I've made it proud.

So here's to notches, small and true, The steps we take, the goals we see— Not all the triumphs come in view; Some joy is found in you and me.