Wanted to share with you another one of Plato’s beautiful poems. But please don’t just read it here. Stop by his website, Plato’s Groove, and hear his beautiful reading of The Gift.
The Gift
I was desolate
Lying still among the debris
In desperation I wrote, seeking
Needing some response, some touch, some signal from the universe
All was void
Perishing for lack of me
Her genesis, Her magic lies in her attention, what she sees
Dying ember
Her heart noticed
A bruised reed She would not break
A smoldering wick She would not snuff out
She saw beauty in the brokenness and as a child would She clapped for joy
She did not attempt to brace up the reed or give it instruction
She found wonder in the ember as it was
And as she clapped her hands it fanned a fire
Her mere interest helped the reed straighten it self
Her gift was not in the doing
It was in the being of Herself
And in the recognition of the beauty found in ashes
She is my hero
Impromptu Promptlings 