Those Unknown

What happened to those who shed many a tear and bled for others? They died hungry lamenting their last years. I know those unknown and I know how much of pain endured they, unbeknown. How unkind is this world? How ungrateful are the people? I find no statues for them at road junctions and never found their names embossed on tomes in golden letters. Should not we recall the names of those felled trees at least while eating their fruit’s tasty pickle? Knowing all why good Samaritans prefer to wear that crown of thorns. Intuition-driven why they try to walk the people towards that unseen heaven? Are they otherwise sheer simpletons or desperados lacking reason? One straying whim answered me: “Each drop of water has no separate name. All together they’re called the rain, a river or an ocean. They come and go smiling, as one flood of altruism, asking for no thanksgiving.”