The stone digs deeper,
Scooping out a hollow,
Making a shell of what once seemed full.
Why a bowl?
I was happy as a lump of wood,
Testifying to nothing but that I was,
And He who made me IS.
But, scoop, rub, scour, sand,
I am empty,
Waiting to be filled.
I will hold something greater than myself,
And pour it forth to those in need.