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
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Author:
GeekSusie (
Offline) - Published: July 20th, 2025 09:03
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar, sorenbarrett, Damaso
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Comments2
Nice poem, sweet rhythm
A most beautiful message sent in such tender and light words where a gift is given without expectation or cost. Lovely and a fave
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