SCRAPS OF WOOD
I read a poem when I was quite young,
That seemed to me to be all wrong,
It told of Jesus making birds of gold,
When He was a boy all lovely to behold.
Then he would bless them, they’d fly away,
Glittering in the sun for many a long day,
Maybe a bird fit for the glories of God above,
Remembering the glory of heaven with love.
Now let me tell a story that comes to my mind
He would use scraps of wood, things He’d find
In His father’s workshop, make birds of wood,
Just like any carpenter’s young boy should.
Littler birds smoothed out carved on the wing,
A plain and delicate unobtrusive small thing.
Each one different like the sparrows that fly
And feed by my window and cheep as I walk by.
I cannot look at a sparrow without always thinking
Of Him, He even mentioned them when teaching
Of God’s great love and blessing that are in store
For others who serve Him, follow God’s holy law.
I can see those young hands fashioning each bird,
I wonder if His loving voice each of them heard?
I wonder if He blessed them until they flew away?
To spread the news of who He was in their own way.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson November 13, 2002