Sometimes - -

Sometimes there are gifts, offered or simply there,

And then it is our place to accept or leave as we choose.

Simple gifts, those that cannot be bought,

No cash nor card can capture them.

Gifts such as the deepest red of the rose,

The sparkle of sun on water,

The purple-blue haze of heather-clad hills,

Or the English chime of church bells.

From these things can the wine of life be gained,

The pleasure of the melody that needs no counterpoint;

But yet, in the dregs of the glass, or in the softest harmony,

Lies pain, and blackness, sadness dearly bought.

(c) 2ndwitch, 10/09/09