Gift

I ask for a poem.
You offer an autumn leaf.
Not a cacophony
Of dancing words,
Eternal in mystical light,
But an autumn leaf.
It is a gift any man
Can give to any woman.
Yet I am special.
Where is my poem?

You ask for a poem.
I offer you an autumn leaf.
It is quite brilliant
In colour and hue.
And because it
Is nature’s word
It is untainted
Innocent of any crime.
There is no dishonesty here,
No promise to be broken.
It is of far more worth
Than my words may muster.
You ask me for a poem.
I give you one.

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3 thoughts on “Gift

  1. What a quandary. She should be touched by and grateful for the “gift”. Yet it evidently isn’t what she asked for. Her perception of “poem” seems quite limited.
    But then, she has been “given” the “poem” above. Two “gifts” for the price of one.

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