Gift of The Magi

Were I, Magi,
I might toss the runes,
Look across the sweeping sands
And marvel at the dunes.
Read the words of poets
Who have courted many moons,
Search the far horizon
For signs of passing.

This sense of great sadness
Moves through the midnight air.
I ask a lone stranger, but they
Just look at me and stare.
And if I stare right back at them,
Their stare becomes a glare.

So I look across the sweeping sands,
And marvel at the dunes,
Open up my velvet bag,
And again, I toss the runes.