I live to serve the people,
But what do they give in return?
No thanks do they volunteer,
To me,
A person who is in the background,
Like a servant shooed,
The bubblegum under a shoe,
A nuisance when not needed,
But chewed up and leeched of all flavour,
When payed attention to.
Which is worse I wonder?
If this is the thanks received for helping others,
Why should we help at all?
But our hearts are pure, and still,
We live to serve.