It was a small thing,
Barely visible to the eye;
Easily trampled and kicked about,
When it fell into the road
Among the throngs
Hurrying on their way
Somewhere
More important.
Rain falling;
A torrent rushing,
Sweeping fiercely,
Forward flinging,
Halting briefly
On stones,
In gullies, swirling—
Lost in current.
Falling deeply
Endless cavern
Contents vanish
Hurtling downward
Powerless,
Broken, battered,
Darkness gaping and
Consuming.
The Father’s Son,
Lovely, pure;
Plucks it
Poor and hapless.
Rescuing, receiving,
Mercifully relieving
Intent
To bring it Home.
Gladness growing
At its finding
Clutching tenderly,
Close to a Heart
Sacred.
Now contenting
And relenting
To loving hands.
