My gift was not great in size,

just a small bundle of compassion, handed to you in

an unimposing package of words,

wrapped with tenderness, and given without thoughts of return.

But ... somehow ... you thought a price was within the ribbons,

hidden subtly away, among the quite frills,

to leadenly fall, once the gift was received.

You took my gift, but then ... handled it roughly,

shaking the package,

first to see how costly, and then

to see how sturdy.

But, my compassion was fragile, unable to stand the indifferent hands

that accepted it, and

it shattered,

flying into frozen crystals of solemn regret.

So, I turned away, leaving you with a package crushed,

realizing that to replace it

would be far too costly for me,

but that,

perhaps,

if before I left,

I lent you a smile,

You could mend it into a gift of beauty again.