Regretful Builder

Winter Creek

Regretful Builder

By David De Jong

I once heard a tale of a middle aged man
Who earned his living hammer in hand
The homes he built were beautiful to view
Each miter cut perfect, each column held true

His mind was tired and his body torn
As he worked for another, he felt forlorn
He told his master, he just couldn’t go on
Began to collect his tools, soon to be gone

His master begged him, please just one more home
Reluctantly he agreed to build just one
Soon he regretted his changing of heart
Dreamed of finishing before he could start

His skill wasted, as he labored in furry
Each board upon board assembled with hurry
Some doors could not open, some doors could not close
His craftsmanship neglected that’s what he chose

The home was completed, his task was done
Brought the keys to the master, feeling he’d won
But he felt so foolish and started to weep
When the master told him, it was his gift to keep

Now as we labor, we build and we toil
We’ll reap what we plant, as from the soil
May we use our gifts as best as can be
While our homes are built in eternity

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