You give me
poems speaking truths,
living pictures
that dance for me;
music
so I can hear you singing
in the voices of old men
with the passion of youth
with the sadness of age.
You give me your past:
a curly headed child
frowning, dazzled by
glare from a far-off sun;
a lithe man,
caught in a lens
held by someone
who loved you when
I was far away in time and place.
You give me your words;
you touch me, touch me, touch me,
all of me, as you warned,
as you promised.
The candle of your love warms me
and I'm not consumed.
For you hold my new life,
that I give to you,
fragile as a moth,
in your devout hands.
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-d-nall-gifts/
