The Canvas 
Here I stand, a blank canvas before God.
What was one a tattered mess,
He has sewn together.
I stand here a new canvas waiting to be painted on.
Slowly He takes up the brush.
Then a wonder unfolds.
Stroke after stroke He paints. 
What was once in chaos comes alive with color.
What was once pain bursts forth with beauty. 
Here I stand a painting not yet finished,
But under the care of the master Painter. 
By Rose H. 
 
 
 
 

Lovely poem!
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