Megan's Hands
by Jan Ackerson In the yard, the sunlight streaming, Megan's digging in the dirt. My daughterfair and freckledonly three: Now she looksis Papa watching? Does he know I'm being good? I ache with love, blow kisses playfully. She is blithely humming, wandering Toward the borders of the lawn Where lurks a poison oak, enticing, red. It calls her name, this temptress: See how shinyprettybright? Put down your spoon, and grasp my leaves instead! How I hasten to her side, and Cry, "Oh sweetie, let it go!" Her fists behind her back, a stubborn chin-- "Papa, no," she whispers, pouting As I open up each hand: Six crumpled leavesand tender, blistered skin. Though I bathe her hands with water, Still the damage has been done; Her toddler's hands by toxins are defiled. Oh, I wish she would have listened To her papa's warning words! Forgive me, Lord, forgiveI am my child. Jan is a Christian who has traveled through sorrow and depression, and has found victory and grace. She dedicates all writings to her Heavenly Father. Check out Jan's website at www.1hundred-words.com Copywrite Jan Ackerson--2006 Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |
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