Her hands prepare small gifts with tender care,
The choice of boxes; whims shall guide her way.
With rosy cheeks, akin the suns that flare -
They share her grit, her gifts transmitted, pray.
His eyes horizon bound, the setting sun
Shall carry sacred boons, he takes each shape
And chooses tools to measure one by one.
His choice, his promise tested; mouth agape...
Their voices stream along a channel known,
With freedom wings they share their shapes and tools,
And keep the gifts where threads of fate were sewn.
Across a distance vast, they smile like fools.
I know the secrets shared between their gifts.
With some refinement, I see subtle shifts.