Gratitude is sometimes shown, not said.
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
Gratitude is sometimes shown, not said. Aunty Lin cleaned up all day,
Wiped tables, cleared the rain —
She was plain, wealth not displayed
A cleaner who came by train.
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
She sat near Exit A each day,
Three chairs, set neat, laid out —
Red, yellow, plastic stools–
In silence sat, not a shout.
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
She never spoke. Just gave nods
Commuters passed her by
But May who worked hard at Stall Four
Dared to ask her, “Why”?
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
She placed the red chair at her feet
Said nothing, but heart stayed.
They left a box. And baked her bread
And returned, unafraid.
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
A month went by. A man stormed in–
Yelling, his fists raised to trounce–
She nudged the blue chair with her foot
The man fell back, sat down.
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
By June, she vanished, with no trace
Just the chairs. Red, yellow, blue.
But in her box, their note of grace
“This one is for you.”
🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑🪑❤️ 💛 💙 🪑
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