the gift

“Here!” cried the voice.
    above the noisy crowd.
“Here is my gift to you!”
    he proudly said.
The crowd parted
    and the boy stepped forward
    holding his hands high.
The king looked
    into his hands…
The boy held a model car,
    perfect,
        shiny,
            gleaming in the sunlight.
“The best you will ever find!”
    the boy proudly said.
“It is nice,” said the king,
    “but, sadly, not good enough.”
    “Try again.”
The boy dipped his head;
    the crowd stood silent;
    and he walked away,
        muttering to himself
        “What more does he want?”
        “What more can I do?”

“here” came the near silent whisper,
    its soft humility piercing
        the noisy throng’s hubris.
“here, it is all I now have”
    the voice came again,
        silencing the parting crowd.
The old man stepped forward
    lifting his hand
        to the king.
“for you,” he whispered
   as he dropped his head.
The once shiny car
    lay broken in his hands
        glue smudges on the windows,
        doors on backwards,
        paint peeling off,
        and a tire missing.
“I’m sorry…”
    “I can’t do any better.”
The king took the car
    turned it over in his hands
    and declared…
“It’s perfect!”
    “Just what I wanted!”
He set the car down
    and took the old man
    into his arms.
Tears rolled down
    both their faces,
        intermingling.
“Welcome home,”
    the king said
    as they stood
        and walked into his mansion.
With one hand 
    he held the child’s hand,
And in the other
    a shiny new car,
    better than perfect.