A Gift So Undeserved
We sat and spoke of ink and time,
Of pages filled through sun and rain.
My friend declared the gift sublime,
A pure bestowal, free of stain.
I paused to trace the quiet thread,
The words that came without a cost,
Not hammered out by sweat and dread,
But breathed to life when hope seemed lost.
Through fleeting youth and greying years,
The pen has moved, the rhythm stayed.
Through silent doubts and unseen tears,
A constancy I have not made.
For who am I to hold this flame,
This spark that kindles every line?
It whispers of a greater Name,
A hand not mine, a grace divine.
A gift so undeserved, and true,
Unearned by merit, held by grace.
It finds the clay, breathes life anew,
And leaves its echo in this place.
So let the verses humbly flow,
A thank-you carved in fragile rhyme;
For every seed the Sower sows
Is lent to us to sow in time.
©TheVillageBoy.
(The figure man who loves alphabets )
