my great uncle dean fell into a lime pit
as a very young boy and after that, the story 
goes, he was never the same again

(but in those days, ‘different’ was 
always a shameful thing, so maybe
he was uniquely himself all along)

he was the one that lived
with my grandpa and grandma, his sister 
and came quietly to meals
not really engaging, slipping away 
as soon as he could

he shuffled in old clothes 
and didn’t act the way
everyone else expected, 
but he worked the farm faithful.

and i remember my grandpa 
especially kind as he listened while
his brother-in-law hesitantly spoke,
unaware that i was watching. 

times were tough on the farm,
good seasons came and went
but bills must be paid 
nevertheless

and my grandma, she worried.
quietly carrying the burden with 
deep and tired sighs as her heart 
grew weaker and grandpa aged
still working on the rented farm.

but one day her brother passed away 
sudden, and the bank manager 
said he had quietly been squirreling 
away his meager income 
year after year, after year

and had bequeathed it all—to her.

my grandparents purchased 
a cozy house in town
and lived comfortably there 
the rest of their days, convenient
due to a brother’s unexpected care.

the moral of the story is:
 intentionally be kind
and love others well
without any strings 
faithful

and don’t worry about things 
not easily solved today
since they frequently 
work out in the end
regardless

heather pound 2025

Photo from Getty Images