Little feet tread the carpet surface
Swiftly passing by big sofas
Moving almost without a trace
He takes some soil from inside the pots
And arranged them neatly on the floor
Until a dozen mud homes were formed
And the floor was no more than rot
Grandma came, and grandma saw,
With only kind words did she whisper
And to a table of steamy warm lunch
She carried him from the living chamber
Afterward she cleaned up the hall
Knowing he had purposely done it all
Without a judgement passed she smiled
While he innocently trodded off once more
And that kid is me, that kid is you,
When we make a big mess in life
And that grandma is Him who is above
With incomprehensible love.
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