Skimp

Skimp

In a modest kitchen, the kettle hums low,
Tea leaves rationed, a whisper of steam.
Bread is sliced thin, the butter’s a gleam,
Each crumb a treasure, each sip a soft glow.

The wardrobe holds coats stitched with careful thread,
Shoes polished till they mirror the rain.
Pockets are light, yet the heart is not plain—
Generosity lives where the purse is thread‑bare.

To skimp is not poverty, but a quiet art,
Finding richness in what is spared, not in excess.
A smile shared, a laugh—these are the true excess,
When the world is measured in moments, not in parts.