THE JUG

Hilda Stob Poetry
October 1974
(Published in
The Banner 6/13/75)

THE OLD BROWN JUG WAS A CASTAWAY,
THE WEEDS I PICKED LAST FALL –
TOGETHER THEY MAKE A LOVELY BOUQUET,
SILHOUETTED AGAINST MY WALL.

YOU CAN SEE HOW BEAUTIFUL GOD MAKES WEEDS
WHEN YOU LOOK AT THEM ONE BY ONE.
AND CAREFULLY PLACED IN MY OLD BROWN JUG,
I HAVE BEAUTY AND I HAD FUN.

I HAD FUN OUT IN THE FIELDS THAT DAY
WITH THE WIND BLOWING MY HAIR.
ABSORBING THE BEAUTY ALL AROUND,
NOT BOTHERED BY ANY CARE.

SO THANK YOU, GOD, FOR MY OLD BROWN JUG,
FOR THE PLEASURE IT GIVES ME EACH DAY.
AND FOR THE WEEDS WHICH YOU SCATTERED ABROAD,
IN THE FIELDS ALONG THE WAY.

 

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