The Carpenter's Little Boat.

 I believed that the blissful wind

Would be an endless ride.

To my surprise, a storm raged out of the orange,

Holding me by a silence.

Oh, he lied, I was quick to claim—

I never thought of him as a liar,

Till this unexpected storm befell me.

I sat in awe, bewildered by that

Which was encircling me,

By what seemed to violate

My little boat of peace

That he had crafted with his bare hands.

He is known to be a carpenter from old,

A carpenter whose work

Cannot be shattered nor torn apart.

I sat and allowed the storm to rage within my mind.

Shall I behold the sun’s rays once more?

I couldn’t help but wonder.

Many say there’s a rainbow

At the end of the wash.

I’m afraid I no longer believe.

I end this with laying myself to sleep,

And to my astonishment,

He’s laying right there beside me,

As he said he would.

“Oh, you’ve finally come to rest,” he said.

My sweet Jesus never left.