To others’ eyes, it may not look like much;
“It’s just a jar of jelly” some would say,
“Wrapped up in festive ribbons and some seals
To make it look more Christmassy and gay.”
But you for whom it’s meant will find,
I know,
All that is packed within the little jar,
You will translate the label properly
And see just what the contents really are.
“Wild grape—“ you’ll say and suddenly
You’ll not be walking dusty city halls,
But down an autumn-gilded little lane
Between the jeweled vines of old stone walls.
Instead of dingy bricks beyond a court
You’ll see a spruce-green hillside, sharp
And clear,
Sweet fern and bayberry will scent the breeze,
The whirr of partridge wings delight your ear.
It is not much to send, this one small jar,
But you will see that in it, pure and true,
Shimmers the essence of the place we love,
Preserved especially by me, for you.