The Gift

Jan Richardson

Jan Richardson

Who can tell
the gift’s reason
I keep it against a day
when it is all I have left
when naked in the tide
eternity rises up
and claims me

On my waking
angels will find it
clutched in my fingers
this mysterious emerald
I have carried so long
never at all certain
how to spend it

“If I were hungry, I would not tell you,
         for the world and all that is in it is mine.
 Do I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?
       Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving,
             and pay your vow to the Most High.
 Call on me in the day of trouble;
       I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.” ~ Psalm 50:12-15


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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5 Responses to The Gift

  1. reading your poems, I feel like your humble parishioner

    Liked by 1 person

  2. time and again your words touch me…

    Liked by 1 person

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