Sculpting Relationships

We all are artists in a way and sculpt relationships That daily join our fledgling lives, like passengers on ships, The beggar you don't give a dime, friend calls (you haven't time?), A-poem-panting-to-be-born's a gift that you can't rhyme? Smooth stone just waiting to be skipped, (that you pass by) feels blue, Sun's child, a cloud (protruding tongue), will you ignore it too? The hopeless wait for master's touch, would practice hurt so much? The tools required are close at hand, a smile works in a clutch! It's not a crime if all your art is not a masterpiece, Consider! Flowers, "gift from God," can cause her tears to cease. Do you owe nothing to the clay that's half-formed on your table, Mother who sequestered dreams in order to enable Yours? Advantage, check, and match! She sculpts a child she hopes will hatch, And blossom on its parent’s grave, though it might start from scratch. The blowing off of unmet needs might put your soul in danger (If a lack of empathy is what Christ gets!) God's stranger That you just pass by - a bum? Christ brother, yet he's no alum? His skin's off-white, poor countenance, you're proud he's not your chum? Oh, practice is the heart of art, God grant that you'll keep trying, A humble servant God admires, the pride we crave our dying! Long Tooth August 28, 2018