Years and years and years past
I would write a gift,
and thought it shared
the love at Christmas.
Now and now and now at last
through the years I sift,
and think to share
our love at Christ's mass.
Then and then and then repast
I would mine eyes uplift,
And pray forgive--
self love this boat's mast.
But again, again, again it's no.
Not my love nor ours this journey takes.
But of the One that gives without the for,
And all the pretty words forsakes.
25.09.2005
