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 ]