Presents don't mean what they used to
And I understand why you never
Used my mugs and platters
That I constructed myself
With my little hands
And my heart of unaware

They have holes
These lopsided bowls
Or pots
Whatever you prefer
They've been on display and only now
I understand

They are non-intrinsic treasures
Holds no monetary promise
But you hold it in your heart
Such as every smashed dandelion
Or mishapen clay creature I've ever conjured
Yet I know you love them, uninferred.