There’s a race going on for life,
in case you did not know,
to cure cancer.
My dad died,
so many like him remembered.
Those with us now,
equally known by sight or sound,
but some don’t hear or see.
They can’t, they are blind or deaf.
The human story,
theirs, yours, mine.
To those here now,
ones left behind.
Hard-workers in the café,
she smiles, asks for feedback.
Perhaps I will.
Casual observer, writer,
conveyer of thoughts, words, actions.
Knowing the beauty of everything
human lies in each smile or friendly gesture,
so often forgotten or missed, in the hurry-scurry of life.
Never forget simplicity.
Each person has a story to communicate,
arms reaching out full circle.