What should I give you?

I filled my tray with whatever I had, and gave it to you. What shall I bring to your feet tomorrow, I wonder. I am like the tree that, at the end of the flowering summer, gazes at the sky
with its lifted branches bare at their blossoms.
But in all my past offerings is there not a single flower made fearless at the eternity of tears?
Will you remember it and thank me with your eyes when I stand before you with empty hands with leave-taking of summer days?