The Present

The present arrived as it always does,
unadorned and slightly shy.
On the doorstep of everyone,
little more than met the eye.

The present arrived without fanfare,
when it came to call.
When it arrived at my house,
I simply gave it my all.

The present wasn't mechanical,
it wasn't electronic either.
It was kind of like the other,
conjured from the ether.

Yet I could use this present,
for it fit me so swell,
I did not want to lose it,
so used it ever so well.

I wish for all, this present,
when it comes this time of year.
With hopes that you will use it too,
and not waste it on your fear.

The gift of the clock

The Gift of Time


More Poems

My Place

Read War's End, the Novel

Copyright 2008 © Ronald W. Hull