Good things need not come
In large packages with glossy wraps.
Sometimes you get them in a little box,
Wrapped in a sheet of paper,
Once a part of a drawing book and later
Got torn out to serve as the “gift paper”.
A lot of thought goes behind
These little boxes of a priceless kind
A long wait to get the right flavour at times,
Of the right toffee from a friend who just turned nine…
Or a careful plucking of a rose from the garden,
Hoping the grown ups won’t notice;
Days of waiting till it’s properly pressed and dried,
And just the right texture for what she has in mind.
And then the hunt for a little box
To put the goodies in, like Santa does with the socks
And once it’s done and wrapped
With her best work from the art class
She feels a sense of sheer delight
That she is just in time
To wish “dear mother mine”
A very happy birthday.
