Friday, February 15, 2019

I am a Broken Pot

I am a broken pot.
You pour your water in.
And straightway it leaks out,
And yet it washes sin:
A broken vessel I,
A cymbal made of tin.

I am a scattered seed
That falls on troubled ground:
The strange dark winds of life
Have turned me all around.
Yet, since your grace rains down,
Some root, some foothold found.

I am a sheep confused.
I go my baa-ing way,
Deaf to the shepherd’s voice,
Unwittingly I stray.
Yet, in some unmarked field,
Yourself became my way.

I am the parable
Of every undone thing:
I have no voice of praise
Till you teach me to sing;
Yet, in your lightest word,
I find my everything.

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