Seashells


Once in mid-September was a time when I remember
Sitting on the rocks out near the sea.
As I sat, it came to mind of the passing hands of time
And how very large the world must really be.
Then, I began to feel in a sense that's truly real
That I was unimportant . . . out of reach.
I felt so small and so alone, and all confidence was gone.
I was like the smallest seashell on the beach.
Then as the sun went down to rest in it's red and purple nest
And a golden glow was given to the land,
I stood and turned away, then, as I walked toward the bay,
I stumbled on a seashell in the sand
It had great intricate design. All the ridges were aligned,
And the color was a vibrant pinkish-blue.
I marveled at the shell, too magnificent to tell,
And I loved to look upon that brilliant hue.
Then, to myself I knew as I looked around to view
The brilliant, blazing-orange setting sun,
That my life was in full motion like the waves upon the ocean
And I was just as great as anyone.
Now I wasn't so alone. Oh, if I had only known
That this knowledge had been just beyond my reach,
Because I knew that out somewhere, God did really care
For even the smallest seashell on the beach.

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