Alone at Christmas

I longed
to give you a gift,
a pearl
of great price.
Crafted
within my wounds and nourished
with body and blood, the pearl grew
lovely and luminous.

Tenderly wrapped in gentle hues
the lovely blues of sky and sea,
it waited beneath the Christmas tree.
Christmas came and went.
You were busy. I understand.
I always do.

The tree and I continued sitting by the window with smiling fairy lights on.
Then it was Lent, and I had to put away
that old tree.
The neighbours were sniggering you see.
But the pearl and I, we sat waiting
for you, my beloved, Prodigal daughter.

And then you came! and I ran,
holding my walking stick and your gift.

You opened the silken blue box, saying,
“Beautiful, thank you!”

But then you saw that Graceful glow and stopped, “No, I can’t take this.”

“Please,” I begged. “It was made for you with all that
I Am.”
“But I am not worthy,”
you whispered.

Only then,
My heart broke,
and I wept.