Cave was carved from crumbling rock,
inhabited by a seagull flock,
which chirped and squawked the day away,
mottled chicks would stretch and play.
Above this cave a gnarled tree
sat watching guard, solitarily,
it felt ashamed, neither green nor tall,
a stubby bush, not much at all.
No matter where the birds would roam,
always they could find their cliff home,
for like a beacon, seen from sky,
shrub guided them while they did fly.
So everything does have a role,
be it a star or simple mole,
no matter beauty or hidden skill,
we all must do what is God's will.
Copyright © Jim Tidd