The Gift of Nothing

A gift of nothing from no one

Awaits me deep in the forest

Of withered trees and dry foliage,

Of echoes of long-dead songs


I look across the glass river,

The banks of which are my playground,

Whose liquid glass is my water,

Whose changing name is unknown


I look across at the forest,

Waiting for the gliding ferry

To come and dock at my threshold

So I could welcome Him home


He brings me voices of strangers

And coins from faraway countries;

He tells me stories of people,

Whom only He could have known


He says one day he will give me

My gift of nothing from no one,

And on that day He will tell me

The river’s name and His own

P.S.: Something to listen to if you liked the poem