Poem: Pay It Forward

With gentle hands, my Dad

and other men rubbed ointment

on the sores of a friend paralyzed

by a massive stroke, turned him,

buffered his pain with warm blankets,

eased his despair by being present.

When wind, fire or flood brought

destruction, neighbors showed up

with tractors, plows and combines —

made sure the hay got baled and barned,

the wheat got cut, corn and soybeans

harvested in time to make a profit.

Death in a family meant the bereaved

were cared for with food for the stomach,

and food for the soul — shared tears, shared life.

Dad, never one for religious niceties

set me on his knee when I was small,

When you leave a place, leave it

better than when you found it.