With skills refined.
He shaped an ancient design.
The blueprint locked in His mind.
Silently He worked His craft.
A bench, if anyone asked.
"The wood's so plain!.
True, its cedar and will last,
But if you leave it this way,
You're miss out on a larger pay!."
"Some paint to brighten it up?."
"Carve the back, make it a work
of art to last."
"It will bring a higher price,
if the seat were covered in what
the public likes"
Each passer-by gave his opinion
He smiled, and said
"the quality will win them."
"Friend, this is fine.
Its my Fathers design."
"What about a stain finish?"
"Satin covers will help to sell it."
He answered each and every time.
"I'd rather not part from my
Fathers design"
Many people wandered by that day.
Stopping to admire what His talent had made.
Each in turn had a comment to say.
Involving some style change.
When finally His work was done.
He sat on the bench to watch the
setting sun.
In His heart a peace He wore.
With His hands, warm lines explored.
"I'll call her Grace."
"Born from my hands and faith"
A smile crossed His face.
"Simple, elegant, a heavenly style.
Nothing about it fragile.
Its my Father's design.
nd will stand the true test of time."