The Gift Poem by David McLansky
The Gift
I gave to her a marigold
Plucked from the sea cliff bank;
Her eyes grew wild and chilly cold
At I so bold and frank;
She put the flower in her book
And handed it to me;
Then strode she off, the grass it shook
As she marched along the sea;
The golden flower that I had killed
In my sudden lover's rush,
Lies withered on the grassy hill
‘Mid the nettles in the brush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/5/2026 10:11:39 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
Beautiful and truthful.