An Investment

I have a job, I work with the old,
They tell me their lives, are not filled with gold.

They call these "the golden years," at least that's what
They say, but I see a little less gold in their eyes everyday.

Prices go up, medical expenses are too high,
Some say that they won't pay them, that they'd rather die.

They're on a fixed income, so nothing gets fixed,
It's no wonder they give up, they're weak and they're sick.

They worked hard all their lives, to meet this sad end,
So I try to be kind, and listen as a friend.

I've held hands at their bedside, given hugs at the door,
Shared love where it was needed, with the rich and the poor.

Found what was lost, or an item misplaced,
Turned a frown upside down, put a smile on a face.

Showed them compassion, when others just didn't care,
When somebody needs me, I try to be there.

Because I too realize, someday I too will be old,
And I hope someone will be there, with a warm hand to hold.

By: Douglas W. Frazier