I stare again at that single bowl as it sits on the sink
To wonder if it’s best that way, my ponderings to drink
Freedom blooms in being one, far better, yes, for some
But what of me I ask, was it planned or just become?
Imagining some other days when joyously so blessed
Is that spoon to be alone, is that really my God’s best?
If a spoon could talk, a bowl to sing, what surely might they say?
Can they content as much alone, or beseech a better day?
So sad to see a spoon and bowl lying friendless on their own
Or blessed to seek and grow this day, to contemplate alone
To see this as a battle, to stand against a curse
Is it best to be alone now, or thankful it’s not worse?
Ponderings the spoon and bowl do fervently now seek
From within the covers of your ageless Word, I beg you, Lord, to speak.
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