the driftwood

a piece of driftwood

floated down the stream.

no control of its destiny,

or so it seemed.

in the heat of the day,

a fish swam by.

it looked at the floating wood,

and asked one question, “why?”

“i beg your pardon,”

replied the wood,

“this is my life,

if i could change, i would.

i’m tired of floating,

and not having a say

where i’ll end up,

at the end of the day.

i’d like to be needed,

help somebody out.

but i can’t so i won’t!”

the wood started to pout.

“oh, but you can and you will

if only you’d realize,

the gift you are given

with each new sunrise.

if only you would awake,

then maybe you could see,

you are not merely floating,

but are carried to your destiny!”

after awhile,

the fish swam away.

but it was too late,

for a lesson had been learned that day.

to treat each day

as a precious gift given.

a special treasure,

sent from heaven.

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