A widow's mite

All I have to Give

I do not have
what others give
I cannot cry aloud
of love
I have only
what I've lived
But cold unfeeling
now begins to thaw
Erased, replaced slowly
by something strange and new
Will you accept
what small things I can offer
and know
I give them all to you
I would give a rainbow
if I could
Some soothing rain
after a long hot drought
Maybe just some shade
beneath a gnarled old tree
Or bring a smile to
the edge of your mouth
These things may not
mean much to others
But they are what
I would give
Trivial nothings
to so many
But they mean
the world to me


My gifts are from somewhere different than most. It is what I see through my eyes, what beauties that touch my heart and leave my soul itself breathless. It is not loudly sung, boldly boasted or even openly lain at anyone's feet. It is quiet but it is sincere. I offer what touches me most.

The weaver accepted my gift, she brought it to her bossom to cherish. There were no words needed, no thank you's or you're welcome's. Just to see her take in the moment ... make it her own and unwrap it to become part of her was enough. There atop the cover of her wagon, the rest of the universe seemed to roll out like a one of her glorious tapesties before us. I hadn't looked to her for anything in return but the allowance of being there, to breathe in the sight, to taste the splendor through her eyes was what she gave me. It was that vision that I took with me in exchange.