Christmas Gift

If I could write you a small, precious gift
Made from paper, and made from pen
It would be, I think, poor reflection
Of all that I'm thinking, my friend.

This paper, just a white sheet of empty page
A display for best words I can find
To tell, there's a place here, special for you
Standing right by my side.

The ink in the pen, tries in earnest
Tries to give thoughts their start
It was dipped in the well of no ending
The well that I keep in my heart.

But paper and pen do no justice
To the things that ought to be said
They can't catch the depth of the feeling
They wait passive, perchance to be read.

I think I know, that you feel it
I believe you're high-focussed, aware
I'm sure you detect deeper meanings
In this gift, that tell you, I care.

Tales of Faust

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