AND THESE THY GIFTS

Photo by S. Auberle

AND THESE THY GIFTS

for Maggie

She weighs it in her hand--

the day to come--the grace

of morning light on cracked pitcher

the scarlet of rose hips

from which she will make tea

the yellow of eggs, the blue plate.

Then, as in every day of her life,

she crosses herself

folds small, strong hands

and prays thanks

to her white-bearded god

who must surely soften

just a little, as he watches...