To the many Nicks, Marks and Rams of the world
Who for no favours or fanfare
Keep doing their work
Simple or complex, mundane or life-saving
In the most strenuous of places and circumstances
Without a frown on (the/their) foreheads
And a smile that is neither artful nor practised
I have often wished I could do something
Or at least express/ voice/ tell them:
More than the many great (writers, poets,) visionaries and men of art and science
It is them who make the world
A better place each day
By just being themselves
(And being nice
Despite the many occasions and often without any occasion as well
Many find a way to be
Just that much sour and a little nasty)
But then I see them beaming unto themselves
In receipt of the reward for being nice
The bounce in their step
Tells/ Assures me (beyond doubt/s)
There is still hope for humans
To blossom into the roses amid thorns/ spines/ spikes
Some rewards I'm convinced are instant
And not wait till the day of reckoning/ judgement