In quiet corners of each day,
Where simple hearts find time to stay,
Lies magic not in gold or fame,
But in a kind and gentle name.
In
a little matatu, a
coin pressed gently in a palm,
To ease a fare or bring some calm,
A child now smiles on dusty seats,
For lunch, for books, or scribbled sheets.
A loaf of bread, a plate, a hand,
Offered where street families stand,
They dine as kings beneath the sky,
And lift their heads and spirits high.
No trumpet sounds, no flashing light,
Just kindness walking through the night,
The smallest deed, a quiet spark,
Can light a fire against the dark.
A note, a hug, a held-back tear,
A stranger drawing someone near.
We think them small, but oh, they grow,
Like seeds that bloom where love does sow.
For joy is not in grand display,
But in the grace we give away.
And those who give, unseen, unknown,
Feel richest when they’re not alone.
So let us move with open eyes,
To find the need where silence lies.
For hearts made full from what we share
Will always find their comfort there.
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