An unexpected guest,
To grace old wooden doors,
To see old sandstone arches soar,
On valiant pillars looking west.

This gift of forming things like clay,
To make as we are being made,
Things to see and hear and play,
All to image us to image Him,
For beauty and for seeking fun,
To see the world between our hands,
See too a world granted us within,
Of desires and dreams and future hopes,
Of sights of unmade things to make.

Sleepy eyes scan the room,
And all is dark and outside gloom,
For stinging frills do line the sight,
For illness comes to hide the light,
But show us still there must be more,
To tired bones and rotten cores,
He shall renew and wash and burn,
The deepest tears and virus' scorn.