Kindness

It does not ask for stage or song,
it sits within the day
a hand that holds, a word not long,
a look that clears the way.

It slips into the woven hours,
like sunlight through a seam,
not louder than the smallest flowers,
yet truer than a dream.

No crown, no coin, no fame to tell,
no ledger keeps its weight.
It roots itself where silence fell,
and turns the lock of fate.

Be it a loaf, a lifted load,
a letter in the rain,
a pause along another’s road
to soften sudden pain

Each quiet act, each gentle word
may seem a fleeting art,
yet lands as though the earth has heard
the beating of a heart.

And so, let kindness take its place
in stone, in breath, in bread.
It is that kindness, plain as grace,
which rocks, or soothes, or steadies worlds
and keeps them warm, and fed.