Donor

A donor stands in quiet hall,
With folded hands and steady gaze—
Not seeking fame, nor craved applause,
But giving life in modest ways.

A vein may yield a ruby tide,
A kidney’s gift, a lung’s soft breath,
Each pulse a promise, warm and wide,
That beats against the grip of death.

Or coins that flow to weary streets,
To feed the hungry, mend the torn,
In charity’s unassuming beats,
A heart renewed, a hope reborn.

No trumpet sounds, no banner flies,
Yet in the silence, kindness grows—
The truest wealth a person lies
In what they freely chose to bestow.