In a morning hush where blossoms bend,
I met a child with an open hand.
No riches clutched, no polished stone,
Just a trembling bird she called her own.
\"Take her,\" she said, \"her song is free—
It taught me joy, now let it be.\"
I cupped the wings with softened awe,
A breath, a gift—without a flaw.
Not what was given, but how it came—
Not wrapped in pride, not tied to name.
Just love, unasked, uncloaked by debt,
A memory I won’t forget.
Now when I give, I do not weigh—
I leave the need, and self, at bay.
A feathered song taught me to see:
True gifts are born in letting be.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf