She stacked them high those wooden blocks

She stacked them high, those wooden blocks,

a focused fury, against the knocks

of doubt. Her tongue, a tiny peak,

concentrating, afraid to speak.

The tower rose, a wobbly spire,

built with her small, intense desire.

One more block, a careful placement, slow,

I held my breath, afraid to know

if it would hold, or if it might

just give up, there, in the afternoon light.

It wobbled, shivered, gave a groan,

then clattered down, a broken throne.

Her face, surprised, then a quiet slump,

a small defeat, a tiny thump

inside my chest. No tears, no shout,

just the slow, soft letting out

of all that effort. A silent ache,

for the things you try for, for goodness sake.