Here's one that managed to write itself in my head. I've taken a moment just now to jot it down here.
The prompt: Write about an intangible gift.
Unwrapping the Obvious
There might not be a deity,
long hair flowing,
robes folded neatly about his feet,
book of deeds open
on a gracious, forgiving lap,
who gives a fig leaf if I'm happy,
but there is a small child
whose arms circle my neck,
whose wild imagination
includes me in all her games,
who points out worms as small miracles,
who holds my hand when we cross the street,
who cries when I leave
and grins with shy delight when I return.
There may be no point in praying,
but there is a point to living,
to providing a teething baby
a friendly finger to chew on,
and two arms to rock her safely to sleep.
There may not be a deity
somewhere in the far reaches
who listens, who speaks,
but there is infinity
in the eyes of a child.
Thanks for this, Hilary