A poem.
Because . . .
The water's there. The yeast is, too.
The sugar, eggs and oil.
A pinch of salt. Some scoops of flour.
A spot of manual toil.
Then there it sits. A work of art.
A dough that's fine and ready.
Just waiting for the final touch.
The hand that's firm and steady.
It starts to rise. Increase and grow.
Progressing, moving on.
Then nears the top. Success so close,
Then, suddenly, it's gone.
That hand so sure that works with care
Deflates all it's achieved.
And in a blink all progress seems
Imposs'ble to believe.
Again it tries.Again it grows.
E'en lighter than before.
Again that hand, again the push,
The dough is flat once more.
A third time tries. A third time grows.
Now tasty and perfected.
Achieves at last it's sought-for goal,
No flaws or faults detected.
At times I feel much like this dough.
My progress interrupted.
When wise hands press me to my knees,
All dreams and goals disrupted.
But praying hard, I realize
Though setbacks are in store,
I rise each time, a better me
Than e're I was before.
Ain't it the truth.
ReplyDeleteIt's true, isn't it? Adversity DOES build character, although it's not without some pain.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful way to look at the hard parts of life.
ReplyDelete"When wise hands press me to my knees,
ReplyDeleteAll dreams and goals disrupted."
I've been there a few times and cried "why?" "why me?" or "why not?" , then realised after much settling down, things worked out for the best without the change I'd wanted, or with the change I hadn't wanted.