WHERE KINDNESS GROWS

WHERE KINDNESS LIVES

In halls where golden years grow dim,
And time walks slow with aching limb,
There shines a quiet, steadfast light,
A few good souls who make things right.

They do not boast, they wear no crown,
They do not seek the world’s renown.
But when you stumble, lost or low,
They’re there, just gently saying, “Hello.”

Wayne, who smiles with eyes that see,
Maria’s calm serenity,
Reggy's song, and Sharon’s grace,
Tony’s heart and Donna’s pace.

They walk these halls with open hearts,
And play the most essential parts.
They ask not what, but how you are,
They notice silence from afar.

They weather storms we cannot tame,
Still greet each sunrise just the same.
Their empathy, a healing thread,
That stitches hope where it has bled.

No spotlight shines upon their way,
No trophy shelf, no grand display,
But every act, each selfless deed,
Is how they plant a kinder seed.

They share, they lift, they lead without
A single whispered word of doubt.
No medals earned, no thanks required,
Their simple goodness never tired.

If all the world could learn their art,
To ask, to care, to hold a heart,
Then even age would feel less cold,
And life, less heavy to behold.

So here’s to them, the quiet few,
Who carry us when days feel blue.
They light the path, they smooth the climb,
The saints of our ungrateful time.