A Lost Gift Poem by Justin Reamer

To whomever seest this note,
This letter is for thee,
Lookest thou in thine hand,
And thou shalt see a key.

Wherefore this key in thy hand?
To what doth this tool go?
Take it to thy mind, my dear,
Unlock it, and soon thou shalt know.

Looketh thou upon the great field,
Covered in a blanket of snow,
Upon the window thou hath known,
For 'tis here it will truly show.

Now, keep in mind that this poem
Is not the work of John Donne
Or that wretched Andrew Marvell,
For seducing thee 'tis not
The narrator's intent,
For he respects thy purity,
As for I am he,
I direct thee without a startle.

As thou looketh upon the snow
From thy windowsill,
Be sure to look carefully
And to be very still.

When thou seest it in front of thee,
Mark the great arbours on thine estate,
Where rodents and porpentines reside,
And the harts of old cooperate.

Look thee upon the forest,
And travel to thy anteroom,
Where thou shalt travel out thy door,
Go to the firs and marvel at them,
So nature may know thee more.

Then look across thine estate,
Where a grey river, hard as rock,
Lies dividing thine property;
Go toward it and traverse it,
For findeth thou an estate
Similar to thine
Filled with opportunity.

Mark thou the white castle
With a carriage road leading
To the great grand entrance,
And thou shalt find in
The very castle
A cavern like a transit.

Enter the cavern,
And thou shalt find a gift of grandeur,
Take the utility in thy hand,
And mystery is never more.
Have a great Christmas!