My Father’s Knife

As the story goes, my father carried this knife in World War II. Under the charge of General Patton’s 3^rd Army, right after the Normandy beach invasion. He requested a knife be sent to him and someone sent him this one. I heard that he only wanted a practical folding knife, still, this one looks good in the show case. The story behind the knife that we all posses, I present to you now in this poem, as we are all soldiers in life whether we realize it or not and the blade that is given us each, was well meant for the tilling of the soil, and our battlefield to be our sojourning as a farmer in a field of life, mending each other from the wars of past by the baring and sharing of our fruitful labor. Look inside the hearts of those around you, and you will see this need is always there.

~ Be a brave soldier ~

- Isaiah. 2:4 -

My Father’s knife of gleaming steel
Reminds me of the days of war
Across the seas, o’er sand and field
Past journey gone, forevermore

And words once written in the Book
His Spirit moving course of time
Who fashions metals changing look
From steel to gold that rings the chime

The bell that tolls Thy written page
Almighty King and Prince that reigns
From mountain trees to desert sage
No mysteries left that shall remain

‘Twas not the crafted handle style
That brought the promise of His pledge
Nor darkened blade, destine defiled
But the sharpness of it’s edge

What once was used to take of life
Will rise again, it’s edge to field
For days to come . . . Apart from strife
Of Nations torn, yet born to heal

And we will learn, this tillage field
Within our hearts to grasp, be ours
When love for others fills our will
Before approaching final hours

My Father’s knife, he wore at side
Now rests upon the mantle view
And when the Light does strike it’s edge
These are the thoughts my heart ensue

- 1 John. 3:11 -

Amen

Michael

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