As children, lost in worlds grown-ups forget,
pass by some anniversary day unmarked,
then, gently minded, run in childish shame
into the garden, there to seek and bring
some wilting flower in warm and loving hand;
or proffer favourite toy, without a thought
that such a gesture might be their own loss;
so I, who seek to bring you, Lord, some gift
in words for all in life I have not earned;
a childish present, offered to observe
the everlasting birthday of Your world,
with flower You made, and toy wrought by Your skills;
accept, I pray, as father does a child:
my thoughts were elsewhere; Your world me beguiled...
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0230-thanksoffering/
