The Masterpiece Beneath the Muck

One day in lonely alleyway a stranger sauntered with a sway Among the stash of smelly trash laid a framed canvas smeared with ash. Looking at it he had a hunch that the thing might be worth a bunch so, he took it to an art shop next to the old, battered bus stop. With gentle care, the artist brushed as stranger looked intent and hushed. The dislodged ash revealed a trace which proved to be a father’s face. When the restorer’s work was done, the pair beheld with faces stunned the father looking at his son with a forgiveness heaven-spun. The painting was a masterpiece the kind that’s lent on short-term lease or sold at auction for a price set high the wealthy to entice. The muck diminished not its worth, priceless it was though smeared by earth. A parable of human life besmirched by sin, sullied by strife. Judge not a soul by outward look, as some are wont to do a book. Human life is of matchless worth, because of God who gave them birth.