The Vase

My soul is as a large glass vase,
in which I place my ev'ry thought:
the kind, the mean, the chaste, the base,
the grand, the small, the hope, the doubt.

Each thought a colored grain of sand:
some bright, some gold, some dark, some blue,
and each one placed by my own hand,
each lending to my vase its hue.

I think a tought, a drop of black;
I rellish in the sinful thought
and shovell in more sand, jet black,
by dwelling on what I ought not.

I think a thought, a drop of blue;
I muddle through the pains of grief
and shovell in more shades of blue
by turning over that old leaf.

I think a thought, a drop of gold;
I ponder how to help a friend
and shovell in more heaps of gold
by mulling on that kindly end.

Each day I choose the thoughts I keep
and so the color of my vase
and whether in the end I weep
or smile when I behold His face.

©James Garner 15 Jan 2007