To My New Daughter

There’s often loosed an arrow sent,

That strikes the target true.

But oftener, is sent the shaft

That makes no headway thru.

 

But rather swerves aside, or short,

As if by hidden hand.

And then no point is driven home,

Nor mark left in that land.

 

Though we were shooting from God’s Word

With shafts of His fine gold.

Our aim was off, and we fell short,

And now no prize we hold.

 

But rather we made marks in sand,

And scuffs upon the land.

We’ve spoiled the beauty we behold

Nay, wounded your fair hand.

 

We’d rather we’d begun again,

A chosen, clearer day,

To venture forth, to try and show,

God’s Word a better way.

 

You’ve always been a prize to us,

A choice our son might catch.

Yet there’s one flaw in all of us,

We’re all a sinful wretch.

 

God sent His Son to die for us,

To draw us to Himself.

Each one of us, drawn through His Word,

Find Peace, and Rest, And Help.

 

Our Love for you goes farther than,

A merely surface show.

We pray for you as our own child,

That Jesus’ Love you’ll know.

 

lss

Reviews

[Mark]

The trick, I suppose, when so many of our arrows go astray and seem, if you'll pardon the pun, pointless, is to remember that our quiver is infinite, and our Armorer is swift to replenish. It is not the arrows' fault, when all is said and done, but the Archer's! A lovely tribute, Larry!

[emmajoy]

Perhaps a tribute, a regret and a prayer combined.

'But rather we made marks in sand,
And scuffs upon the land.
We’ve spoiled the beauty we behold
Nay, wounded your fair hand.'

Words like this are so often treasured in the future

[Ladysue]

oh this was so gracious and endearing...just beautifully done...

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I think this poem is just lovely. I love the beginning, how it loosed itself across the void and pierced my soul with meaning. From beginning to end, it's a masterpiece.