The Gift

The gift you gave is much, too much.

The cost I cannot pay.

You expect eternal gratitude

In all I do and say.

I don’t mean to seem ungrateful

And perhaps you’re unaware

The attitude you’ve offered,

To me, makes reason stare.

Please give me no more presents

And expect me to bow down.

Those things you think so precious?

Please keep them for your own.

May B. Winkel ©2003