Reflection

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.

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