Blossoming Gifts
Oh, but for the gift of the written word
When it comes that time of day for solace.
They become the friends whom I seek
As much as if they were Kings in a palace.
Would I but get to know them better
As each and every one reads past.
Time will not allow me to meet them all
But the ones I do, seem to fill the chasm so vast.
My mind thinks on them every now and then
Only to be tempted to sit and touch them more.
Not only with the thoughts I had and have
But with the emotions deep in my core.
When I find that my words do not come
I cry for the ones I cannot know.
Then I read the words of others who share
Their words, like blossoms, within me grow.
It is their kindness to me for which I am thankful
As their words wash o'er me in time.
To each of them I am the quiet reader
For the words they write stick in my mind.
These gifts to me are not to be overlooked
As each one is a treasure wrapped in its own rhyme.
May the Lord continue to bless all those who write
With the gift of words, both simple and sublime.
Is there anything else I need to say?
There is but one thing I hope to do.
Write words of emotion, comfort, elan, and voice
That I might help to fill other chasms, too.
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