Craftsman
You've been searching for a craftsman to build you up with clay.
So I'll sculpt you with my love as I sit upon the brae.
I'll gaze up at the sunshine and talk to God; I'll say,
"Just what were you thinking when you molded her this way?"
Did you know that she—had breaks along her back?
Or when she feels sadness—her heart begins to crack?
Do you know her head—was hollowed far too thin?
There's too much room for thought; she keeps it all within.
Her feet have chipped from walking, her eyes—they see too much.
She doesn't even recognize she has the magic touch.
You could've made her stronger, at least along the rim.
Or maybe even built a smile; you could've shaped a grin.
You should've added color—a little sunshine too!
Maybe then she'd take the chance to see what she can do.
For now, I'll just keep sculpting;
I'll fill the cracks with love.
I promise not to change the girl or change what she's made of.
I’ll just soften out the sad parts, so that she can shine.
And one day she will know —that she was made just fine.
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