The Chocolate Chip Country

Service

The book says service is perishable, for
Once it is given, it is gone.
That moment, that act exists no more.
It disappears like the stars at dawn.

And yet, I can't quite believe
That a deed once done is ended.
The book insists that my heart deceives
When it marks what those acts have mended.

The service itself is small and discrete
From all that may come after.
The pebble isn't the rippling sheet;
The sly games aren't the laughter.

But my heart insists that it does not perish,
So long as the results are there to cherish.