I used to watch the smoke from my mother's cigarette In the lamp light. Rounded child's eyes thick with wonder at so simple a thing. Silver threads twining through amber Up, coiling serpentine runes in the air Ghostlike but solid. Like the afterglow of a kiss on my cheek When she tucked me into bed.
This, I think, is solid proof that really good poetry doesn't have to necessarily encompass monumental, earth-moving themes. We can also learn a lot about self and humanity from childlike beauty and wonder, and reflections of simplicity. And, gee, it "sounds" really delightful, too!