The Thorn

          For each short span of life a soul,
          Although it sings merrily
          Has but to sing a song of sorrow
          Our lives an endless melody!!

          The best is bought at greatest pain
          As the thorn bird legend goes
          For to reap the fruits of happiness
          The seeds of pain we must sow!

          To sing the sweetest of songs
          So the legend tells a tale
          The bird against a thorn
          Its breast had to impale!

          To hear the sweetest notes
          As they float o'er vale and hill!
          To hear the incomparable melody
          All the world stood still!

          God had to teach a lesson
          So he gave us all the thorn
          For only when we fear the night
          We wait eagerly for the dawn!

          And like the little thorn bird
          With crimson staining its breast
          On the thorn, must too impale ourselves
          Until in our savior's arms we rest!

~ Judy Doyle ~

[ by: Judy Doyle, Copyright © 2008 -- submitted by: Judy Doyle ]


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