Gifts from the far off land I still call home
The smells of seconds and cold mornings and nights
Bundled up in a gift
From a friend
From a land far far off
Yet the cold mornings and nights are here too
A gift
From Father
That He made me to have preferences
That align with this world He made
A gift
From Father
I'm not lost or overlooked
In the place where most preferences die
Though maybe that's the point
He sees me
As I die
But not a death that stings
The good, daily death
That I might see more clearly
A painful gift
But a gift nonetheless
From Father
Everything is
From Father