Love Is A Gift

Love is a gift, like the sweater
Aunt Ginny sends in the mail.
A thing to be given freely, and hope
That it fits the receiver right.
Sometimes, it's not appreciated.
It's wadded up and thrown into a drawer.
Never to be seen again.
Other times, it is abused.
Worn too many times outside
Until the colors fade, the yarn running,
The sleeves ripped and useless.
But that doesn't change the nature
or the feeling of the giver.
And the love that is given is
Wholly pure and wonderful.
Maybe someday, all gifts will be appreciated
By those who receive them.
But until then, the gifts I've given
Were meant only for good
And that's how I'll always remember it.


There are reasons I'm taking medication. They're called "other people." - Me, displaying my anti-social tendancies