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 Kindling


The old table had burns and mars on it's top,
There was food in the crevice that didn't drop.
This was nourishment that fingers let slip away,
Yet held in the crevice for another day.
The chairs were all worn from the bodies they held,
Some backs were up right others broken and nailed.
Each chair had it's own path etched on the floor,
Suiting each body that had been there before.
The old wood kitchen stove was rusted and cold,
There will be no more meals for this table to hold.
The table had held nourishment for many to grow,
And heard words of grace for God's love to show.



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