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I’m
only
a
piece
of
metal,
but
what
kind,
I’m
still
not
sure.
Might
I
be
gold
or
silver,
or
some
kind
that’s
not
as
pure?
If
I
should
be
gold
or
silver,
I
might
one
day
become
a
crown,
With
diamonds,
rubies
and
sapphires
embedded
all
around.
I
might
become
a
beautiful
necklace
to
adorn
a
maiden
fair.
Or
I
could
become
the
ring
that
joins
together
a
loving
pair.
Oh,
it
would
be
so
wonderful
to
become
a
part
of
some
treasure,
for
people
do
love
pretty
things,
to
enjoy
and
give
them
pleasure.
I
was
distraught
to
learn
I
was
simply
iron
and
not
purest
gold.
But
many
important
things
can
be
made
from
iron,
I’ve
been
told.
Strong
tools
are
made
from
iron,
so
I
could
be
put
to
good
use.
Since
these
are
needed
in
life,
this
gave
my
hopes
a
new
boost.
One
day
I
arrived
at
a
smithy’s
shop
with
metals
of
many
kinds.
I
wondered
what
I
would
become,
and
what
the
smithy
had
in
mind.
So
many
times
he
melted
me
down,
I
could
barely
stand
the
heat;
I
grew
stronger
as
I
lost
my
impurities,
and
one
day
I’d
be
complete.
Whenever
the
smithy
was
forging
a
sword
or
even
a
simple
plow,
I
was
always
the
one
leftover
piece
that
wasn’t
needed
right
now.
One
day
my
turn
finally
came,
and
I
was
pounded,
shaped
and
heated.
I
was
ecstatic
and
very
happy,
because
at
last
I
was
going
to
be
needed.
I
did
not
know
just
what
I
would
become,
but
the
metal
smithy
knew.
He
was
satisfied
with
his
results,
when
I
was
finished
and
through.
He
tossed
me
into
a
pile
of
things
that
were
all
made
just
like
me.
I
finally
learned
what
I’d
become;
a
“nail”
was
what
I
was
to
be.
One
day
a
man
came
into
the
shop
and
bought
a
clay
pot
of
nails.
Since
I
was
one
within
the
pot,
I
pondered
what
my
mission
entailed.
Might
I
be
used
to
build
a
new
temple,
or
a
palace
oh
so
grand?
At
last
my
strength
might
be
put
to
use
to
make
a
building
stand.
Each
time
a
hand
reached
into
the
pot,
I
was
the
one
nail
never
pulled
out.
I
was
so
very
discouraged
and
sad
--
“pick
me”
I
wanted
to
shout!
One
day
I
was
finally
chosen,
and
a
strong
hammer
drove
me
into
place.
I
was
so
happy
I
was
finally
being
used,
my
heart
began
to
race.
But
when
I
saw
why
I
had
been
chosen,
I
felt
such
awful
despair.
For
I
had
wanted
to
be
used
in
this
world
to
build
or
to
repair.
Instead
I
held
a
man’s
feet
to
a
cross,
as
he
painfully
and
slowly
died.
My
own
heart
felt
like
breaking,
and
if
I
could
have,
I
would’ve
cried.
The
dead
man
was
Jesus,
God’s
only
Son;
but
later
I
heard
He
still
lived.
For
the
part
that
I’d
played
in
causing
His
death,
I
hope
God
will
forgive.
God
chose
Him
before
the
beginning
of
time
to
die
on
an
old
rugged
cross.
But
God
chose
me,
a
simple
iron
nail,
to
do
my
part
to
help
save
the
lost.
God
has
a
use
for
His
children;
just
as
important
as
the
way
He
used
me.
He’ll
take
you
and
use
you
in
mighty
ways;
open
your
hearts
and
you
will
see.
Give
yourself
completely
to
Him.
You’ll
be
amazed
at
what
He
will
do.
If
you’ll
put
your
faith
and
trust
in
Him,
He’ll
forge
a
brand
new
“you”.
I
was
inspired
to
write
this
poem
after
reading
one
of
Kevin
Corbin’s
“Gleanings
From
The
Word”
~Author~
Emily
McAdams
©Copyright
Mar
2002
|
