The servant rises before the sun,
not to be seen,but to begin.
There is no applause in silence,
only the rhythm of duty.

Hands move through ordinary things
---
water,cloth,dust,bread---
transforming them without claiming them.
The work is never finished,
only paused.

The servant listens more than speaks,
hears the weight in a sigh,
the plea in a glance.
Presence becomes a kind of answer.

No crown,no stage,
just worn shoes and steady steps.
The servant disappears into the day,
leaving behind only what others needed.