When Giving Is All We Have
One river gives
Its journey to the next.
Its journey to the next.
We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.
We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.
We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—
We have been wounded by it—
Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.
Its story is
old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read
this book, anyway, over and again:
Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.
Mine to yours, yours to mine.
You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me
Together we are simple green. You gave me
What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made
What I had to give—together, we made
Something greater from the difference.
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