In friendship,
it’s the extra call late at night,
the remembered laugh from years ago—
something unasked, freely given.
In service,
it’s the coffee shop adding a biscuit,
the mechanic wiping the corners of the window
without a word,
small touches we barely notice,
yet carry home.
In art,
it’s the brushstroke tucked into the corner,
a detail only the painter knows is there.
It’s the verse that wasn’t needed,
but stayed anyway.
In learning,
it’s the teacher who lingers after the bell—
a moment longer,
just to see you understand.
In kindness,
it’s the smile, the patient pause,
when the world might pass someone by.
In care,
it’s choosing the second blanket on a cold night,
the last slice saved for someone else,
the small, quiet gifts
that never ask for thanks.
A baker’s dozen
is more than thirteen.
It’s the measure of giving
without counting.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 2nd, 2025 05:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Caring dove
Offline)
Comments4
Excellent write
Thanks Tony! And the first comment as well🕊🙏🏻
You're welcome
Lovely writing ! Very nice 🙂
Thanks so much, Caring Dove, you are very much appreciated 🕊🙏🏻
My dear departed mum used this code. She was an oyster farmer/processor, and always put an extra oyster in each jar.
It paid off.
Oh wow, that is wonderful in our world of watered down and plastified merchandise.... Most inspiring. 🕊️🙏🏻
Not really a hundred percent about the title just yet... any ideas? This piece being a quiet nod to the things we often overlook—the unspoken gestures that ripple through our days without fanfare. It traces the outline of generosity not by what's expected, but by what’s offered freely, instinctively.
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