Psalm 103: 12-16 says “As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. Like as a father pitieh his children, so the Lord pitieh them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust. As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.” (King James Version, Holy Bible)
This psalm inspired me to write a poem; it inspired me to think deeper about God’s love and compassion. This life is so fragile; each day is a special gift to be cherished. This year, I refuse to waste one second of this special gift called life. Here is my poem.
Broken Clay Pots
He remembers that we are dust,
leaving footsteps on a receding shore.
Countless days pass away to return no more.
Yet, he remembers that we flourish like a flower of the field which simply fills the world with brilliant colors, then fades with the dying of the light.
But, he remembers, he knows that we are as fragile as broken clay pots,
he knows that we drown in our own tears,
he knows that the valley of death is far too frightening for any of us to stand.
He knows the emptiness within our souls.
He reaches down and lifts us up out of the darkest of nights; he knows that we are dust.
He knows that we are dust and that we are not whole,
just like broken clay pots.
copyright 2019 Jenny W. Andrews