The Kindest Piece of Paper
Knocking every door
Polite or rude
A poor sales boy walked.
A burning stomach
And a load of unsold goods
Dragging his tired feet
He walked to yet another door.
A young lady answered
His modest heart
Could only ask for a drink.
But she saw
The hunger in his eyes
And tears lingering
At the corner of his eyes
Waiting to break out.
She brought out
A glass of milk.
The hungry mouth drank
And his little heart
Thanked this angel.
Times and years passed
Like silent whispers
And the kind lady
Now grew old and ill
And no physician could cure.
But one came forward
And nursed day and night
And she woke to a new life.
Her grateful eyes searched
To see that kind Doctor.
The reply came as a bill
The old hands hesitantly opened
And her eyes cried and sparkled
At the kindest piece of paper
That lay in her hands
And the words lay
“Paid in full with one glass of milk”
Copyright © Roopa Menon | Year Posted 2006
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