Not the trip to Asia,
Not the new car,
Not the Pink Floyd anthology.
I was the last to know which gift
One day would mean the world to me.
Initially,
I hated it.
Refused and wasted it.
For eight years my gift remained
A most abhorrent ball and chain,
And I’d be ******- a silly boy-
To think a wiser way.
But alone this gift can know
The soft, hidden heart of its most
Ungrateful recipient.

These gifts we give our children,
To help them find their hearts,
Could save the world before our eyes
If we had enough to spread
Around from the start.
I pray more kids could spend
Eight years hating their most precious gift…
Hating the mother's deaf determination,
the teacher's patient smile.
Hating their refusal to stop giving.
Because now, when I sit down
At a piano
Playing with this heart I found,
People slow down,
Stop.
And listen.
And when I’m done sometimes
They say
That kid’s got a real gift.