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Poem

I met a man who was a builder, harder life than some.
His lifetimes measure built of him the man he has become.

A carpenter who works with hands, grown tough through each nail driven.
For each connection made he stands to witness love he’s given.

A life that’s built of wood and people, dreams all shared with God.
Connected through a path of faith, a worthy man might trod.

He builds the dream of home and hearth that each heart so requires  
with hands that strive forever forward, even though he tires.

With back that bends toward prayer as a soul on bended knees
he places pieces one by one til finished home he sees.

A sculptor of each family’s home and all their vested futures. 
With caulk and nail and sweat and blood his only given sutures. 

Directing useful trees to be arranged by artful hand.
Conducting symphonies of glory, weather to withstand.

A visionary born of lumber, plaster, tile, and stone,
making memories of houses where his light has shown.

A designer of dreams he moves with speed to completion.
Steady with strength, quick with purpose, into every season.

Delivering hollowed caverns of life for those to call their own.
Shaping shells whose contents hold the people he has known.

A shaper of fluidity, measuring courses, marking flow; 
constructor of places where souls reside, and lives have space to grow.

This man I met is but one finger, not at all so odd, 
who moves with steady purpose, on another hand of God.

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