There is no tree adorned with ornaments, bejewelled, rare,
there is no stripèd stocking on a mantel hung with care.
No marketplace exists providing what it is I need,
you cannot buy the gift for which I ache until I bleed.
No craftsman’s hand can fashion aught approaching such a thing,
for only from a strong and solid spirit can it spring.
No bearded, scarlet-suited elf can bring what I desire:
it must be hand-delivered by an honest heart on fire.
© 2012 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved
My heart’s desire.