Lugh’s Garden

I had a little gift,
No one to give it to,
And so I put it in a box,
To keep it fresh and new.
Though the box was silver,
The lock upon it, gold,
I knew the gift would soon become,
A faded thing, and cold.
Nothing lasts forever,
Some things, a shorter while,
But gifts like this need frequent use,
Like happiness, and smiles.
And so, my little gift,
Is soon to die, it’s true,
Unless I give this box of love
To someone just like you.

(I know, it’s pretty sappy. That’s what happens when you learn to read from a box of Valentine’s cards)

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 26th, 2007 at 2:56 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.