The Gift
Tucked inside her softest
touch
wrapped in pastel hues
there lies a gift of greatest
value
lighted by the purple moon
When sadness sweeps my
landscape
as darkness clouds my
view
she echoes ‘cross the chasm
to wrap my bleeding
wound
And resting in her palm
of hand
sparkling with twilight
she gives to me her
friendship
and whispers it’s all right
and takes my hand
and dries my tears
and guides me toward
the light.
With love to my friend.
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006
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