“where are all the nice people”

Where are all the nice people?—I asked the wind one day,  
As tangled dust in sunlight spun and tumbled on its way.  
Are they hidden in the morning, just past the waking dew?  
Do they linger in the laughter that afternoon once knew?  

Perhaps they're in the library, tucked between the spines  
Of stories full of kindness, left behind in quiet lines.  
Maybe strolling through the market with a gentle, open hand,  
Or sharing smiles with strangers as they cross a crowded land.  

You’ll find them in the small things—  
A door held,  
A card signed,  
A moment of true listening,  
An understanding mind.  

Sometimes they are silent,  
Their goodness softly glows—  
Like lamplight in a window  
When the colder evening blows.  

And if you feel discouraged,  
When the world seems tired and gray,  
Look for the nicest person—  
In what you do and say.  

For kindness grows contagious  
If you plant it where you stand—  
The nice people are everywhere,  
When you reach out a hand.

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