Alone at Christmas

I longedto give you a gift,a pearlof great price.Craftedwithin my wounds and nourishedwith body and blood, the pearl grewlovely and luminous. Tenderly wrapped in gentle huesthe lovely blues of sky and sea,it waited beneath the Christmas tree.Christmas came and went.You were busy. I understand.I always do. The tree and I continued sitting by the window with smiling fairy lights on.Then it was Lent, and I had to put awaythat old tree.The neighbours were sniggering you see.But the pearl and I, we sat waitingfor you, my beloved, Prodigal daughter. And then you came! and I ran,holding my walking stick and your gift. You opened the silken blue box, saying,“Beautiful, thank you!” But then you saw that Graceful glow and stopped, “No, I can’t take this.” “Please,” I begged. “It was made for you with all thatI Am.”“But I am not worthy,”you whispered. Only then,My heart broke,and I wept.