No Ribbon

Christmas comes, no gift. We are apart,
And, anyway, I'm sure you know I've
Nothing wrapped to bring to you.
You've seen; I am not rich, nor am I
Handsome. I can't dance. I could,
If we could find the time, prepare
A pleasant meal for you, and I could
Sit beside you as you told me how
Your day has gone, but, mostly,
What I have to give are these, just
Words with which I hope that I've
Made clear I care for you. I've tried
To make them pretty-sounding,
Sent them through the ether to you
On this Christmas morning. You
May keep them. They are yours.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 14 times
Written on 2011-12-25 at 13:23

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