The Gift, a poem by Gail Constable at Spillwords.com

The Gift

The Gift

written by: Gail Constable

 

Icy air in my lungs,
Frozen fingers and
Toes, rosy red cheeks
Hunting among the
Lot for the perfect
One.

Standing in my
Livingroom, the
Tree spreads green
Arms, smelling of
Fresh pine, strung
With lights.

Boxes of decorations
Dragged from the
Dusty attic, slowly
Opened to display
Ten years of
Fragile ornaments.

Each one I hung had
A memory of you,
Laughing, smiling,
As I picked up the
Next one, I began to
Practice forgiveness.

For lying, not
Loving me truly,
Leaving for her,
All the pain,
Tears fall but you
Have my forgiveness.

In the spirit of the
Season, with the
Star on top of the
Tree, I also gave
To myself the gift
Of forgiveness
And of love.

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