Never-Ending Gift

Never Ending Gift

A service I learned long ago,
to turn the dough very slow.
Take pride in your work a voice said,
of a man that has long been dead.
I remember his words ever so clear,
telling me the strangers were nothing to fear.
They are like us that have fallen on hard times,
and there was no need to have poverty be a crime.
See, they eat like you and I,
but some prefer white not rye.
I will make them both to fit every ones need,
for bread should never be held in greed.
The words stir through my mind as I walk to the oven,
and I pause to grab tight to the dough with some lovin.
They come in out of the cold some go some stay,
always eating our bread the same way.
Butter and jam and a smile on there face,
knowing someone has passion and grace.
My father fed so many who would have been without,
and to see them finally become quite stout.
Then when he passed on I had to do this for him,
so I poured the flour to it's rim.
Serving fresh bread every Sunday before eight,
and seeing the smiles on their faces made me feel great.
A man walked in one day and said to me,
that without my father, no one would feed his hunger plea.
He showed me an old watch that my father had gave,
and said he had this only thing to save.
A few months ago I saw the same man,
hidden behind a lot under a dirty trash can.
He had passed as I expected from the start,
but a tiny watch was held to his heart.
The officer gave me the watch and said this is yours to hold,
I warmed it with my hands because it was cold.
I fixed it and shined it so it would work all right
then I gave it to another stranger that very night.
I was glad when he smiled like they all do,
Dad, this is my never-ending gift to you.

Written By
Robert Lee Niswander
Copyright 2004