Tattered Rags Or Golden Drums Poem by Alexander Beebe

Don't fret of gifts perceived too small,
tattered, dull, cracked or scarred.

Don't boast if gold and diamonds
spill from hands pulled out of
swollen tills.

What carries gifts to heaven's door
when last we come to end?

It's not the sum we earned as
children; earthly things will
fall to waste.

The truest price it lies within,
the gift of hearts in total sum.

It matters not how they're wrapped,
in tattered rags or golden drums.