Sunday, September 25, 2011

The Gift


The Gift

I saw a man weaving a basket
by the side of the road
The sunlight shimmering
on top of his silver haired head
Intent he was, his gaze concentrated
upon his skilled fingers
twisting the pliable branches
Perhaps his mind drifting in and out;
his thoughts pausing to linger
on memories as faded as a cherished
and well worn photograph
Observing from a distance
His shoulders hunched
as he diligently created a vessel
that would one day hold freshly picked apples
or lovingly gathered wildflowers
A prayer...
A peace offering...
A gift...

Angela Minard 2011©


Wanda's Wings said...

What a beautiful story. Well written, Thanks for sharing,

Eve said...

hmmm, YOU, ANGELA are a gift! And I love this poem! Thank you for sharing it with us. Thank you for the work you are doing. The hard, honest, brave work.

John Buchanan said...

Thank you,I have Complex Regional Pain Syndrome and took up writing as a way of taking my mind off pain and to replace the loss of all my active hobbies. Finding a site like this was a pleasant surprise.

Anonymous said...

Lovely! Mom