I look for gifts in unusual places
The quiet lonely spaces
And the lots overgrown.
The tangle of words
Where a thought shines free,
The memory that holds a life:
Who am I to refuse these things?
The glimpse of a seed
Or the leaves blowing restless – see,
My own words, my own worth,
Is held in a thing just as small.
I speak only this,
Words too important not to say:
The story of countless other
May otherwise sleep untold,
But they gift infinity within their glimpse of life.