Wood


A little piece of driftwood lay there upon the beach
Just where it had landed beyond the ebb tide's reach.
A man was slowly walking past along the strand
He stooped to look then took it up into his outstretched hand.
He gazed in thought but what he saw was something really good –
It was a thing of beauty hidden deep within the wood.
He took it home and with his tools he shaped it with much skill
And there emerged a tiny bird with folded wings and open bill.

A rough hewn cross, a thing of shame no one would even care
For mostly only criminals would hang and suffer there.
But then one day t'was God's own son who changed it for the best
He gave His life that evermore mankind would be most blessed.
Those grieving there that day surely suffered sore –
They didn't know that Christ lived on in Heaven evermore.
Study well these two brief tales — they do not differ much —
For miracles can happen with the master's touch.

Sheila

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