He looked in the mirror
And instead of his face
He saw someone worthy
Of goodness and grace;
A man who was useful,
Who’d given enough,
With bountiful beauty
Though his edges were rough;
A man that he knew
Deserved the fine feeling
That he could rise higher
Uncrushed by the ceiling;
A man who saw Heaven
In shelves left undusted,
Who hadn’t yet learned
It’s alright to be rusted;
A man who’d been beaten
Yet rose straight and tall
On the day he believed
It was his face after all.
The Daily Travesty 