The Gift
There is nothing I want that money can buy.
They ask what gifts I'd like for Christmas.
I tell them none.
Surely there is something?
They intently pursue,
And with a shake of the head, I stubbornly reject.
For there is nothing in this world,
No objects, no reward,
That can amount to my deepest desires.
A love I can hold, golden and pure as it embraces my heart,
The shadows of heartache and distance exposed of-
A mental gift jewels of the finest could not compare.
I wait,
Hopeful that the person able to give me such a gift,
Sweeps me off my feet on that Christmas Eve,
Scoffing at the rejected dollar sat in the embers of the fireplace.
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