Christmas Gift

I wanted to paint you a horse.
But that's as far as I got.
A mangled debauchery makes not a good gift.
So I'll leave it as just a good thought.

I thought I might make you a song.
But my fingers can't figure a tune.
A dismembered melody hard on your ears is not one that you'd have me to croon.

So I sat with my pencil and paper in hand- a poorly sketched figure of horse, and just then- I thought up this poem to salvage the night.

I look at my clock. It's morning alright.

My heart has grown heavy. I've wasted my time- with only to show this ridiculous rhyme.
No beautiful pony. No soft serenade.
What good has it done, all the plans that I've made?

I wanted to paint you a pony.
That's as far as I got.
I'm ill-equipped at the moment you see.
But there's some gift just in the thought.