Compassion drips off His fingers,

Like little bells calling in the middle-night passing

Of an unseen breeze.

His hands take the clay of laughter and the water of tears,

Molding them now on the wheel of life.

The pottery holds flowers of joyfulness,

Watered by the rest of peace.

His art as sweet as the early songbird,

Unstoppably sweet, like an incoming wave.

Mysterious, like an unknown bird flying off in the night,

As grounded as a copper circuit,

As unbeholden as the lily of the field.

Our legacy drops off the table,

While His presence remains a cup of clear,

Sunlight dancing close.

To be imbibed,

Fully and completely.

A dose of knowing,

A wisdom already held,

Once at arm’s length, but now embraced.

The wheel slows down,

The sun sets,

The wave crashes,

The flowers sleep, and sleep again,

The circuit opens,

The bird lands,

While the procession of the living and the dying goes on.

He is glancing, smiling, encouraging,

But not forgetting, as He carries you.

(Wikimedia Commons image by Asifsaleheen – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=36020409)