by Deborah Chandra
My Christmas present stares at me,
A silver bulge beneath the tree,
Tied with bright red bows.
I pick it up--its ribbons slip
And tingle on my fingertips.
"What can you be?" I whisper low.
I shake and poke and peer at it,
Then put it back and sigh a bit.
It will not tell me what it knows.
Stiffly dressed in shiny clothes
Of silver, waiting silently,
My present sits . . . and stares at me.
from Balloons and Other Poems by Deborah Chandra, illustrations by Leslie Bowman, 1990, Farrar Straus Giroux
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