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.