The gift in its giving,
its opening,
receiving,
holds the moment of gathering-
precious mementos,
all in neat little boxes-
I grasp to hold such,
gifts close to me-
but what is given,
can easily be lost or taken away-
the gifts I seek,
unlocks what is inside-
between the deep of me,
I no longer hold what-
the world gives and takes,
what comes to me-
is released to the ashes,
of my memories-
what I cling to more,
than what is tangible or solid-
wrapped with red ribbons,
at Christmas time-
what surpasses time,
and the seasons turning-
held in the gift,
of infinite love-
gift of all gifts,
that rises in my heart-
of my ready living.
Author Maureen Kwiat Meshenberg ©
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