letters and lattes

There is no
     Thank you
For a job well done
No hand reaching down
To pull us out of the grave
Happiest still -
If we stayed buried
For all our mistakes. 
What made us think
We’d get accolades 
For doing good 
      on this side of forever? 

Back bent and weary
It is not for reward 
We tirelessly whisper
Shuffling forward, forging the path
reaching hands out
Pulling others up
Making a way.

Do not tire 
In doing good - 
Although we are so very tired. 

The kind word lasts 
The thoughtfulness permeates  
The generosity grows 

What gets sown
We will yet reap
Whether we receive a thank you;
Or not.