When the last kiss to brush your cheek has dried
And the light dust has long since blown to the four winds.
When the last smile to warm your eyes was on a path
Now long since over grown.
When the last hand to grasp your fingers
And help you cross that wild, unforgiving stream,
Has slowly withered and turned to dust,
That is when a random act of kindness will grasp your heart
And pump the heat of belief back into your blood,
And back into your life.
bobby stevenson 2017