All Yours

My wool blanket
with so many memories,
knitted by my late Gramma
is yours.
My books,
numbered in the thousands,
with just as many colors
is yours.
My lucky penny
given by a friend,
storing luck to use,
is yours.
My rainy day money,
saved for joy,
carefully stored,
is yours.
All that you need
can be yours
if you ask,
for a great man
named Ghandi
once said
“The fragrance
always remains in
the hand that
gives the rose.”