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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