The Door Poem by Franklin Spriggs

The Door



When I was but a seed,
I was planted beside a mighty rushing stream,
I nourished and I grew exceedingly,
I was proud to be among other giants of the forest.
But the hand of the axeman drew near to my trunk,
If the axeman had felt my sorrow,
He would have stayed his axe and passed me by.
I did feel that I, of the youngest of the forest,
Should perish so quickly.
But the axeman did not stay his fatal blow,
I felt my purpose was in vain.
But, to my amazement, the axeman began to shave my bark,
And make of my trunk into fine timber.
As I was constructed, I became a door,
But what need would anyone have of me,
For there are so many here before me waiting?
To my surprise I was customed for a purpose,
As my hinges were attached,
I was thrilled to be used for the protection of a dwelling.
As the last screw was tightened, I was rejoiceful,
Knowing my brilliant brass knob was to be inserted.
Then sorrow engulfed me, for there was no knob attached without,
only within.
Then one day Jesus was before me knocking,
And I was sad because He could not go in.
I pleaded with the dwellers to let him in,
But they would not answer.
So Jesus turned away sorrowful.
I seen afar off another little tree growing in the distance,
And thought, little tree maybe this will be you one day,
And the dwellers of the house you occupy will not refuse
to answer and open the door.
For you see, the knob is within and not without.

Author
Franklin Spriggs
August 14,2008

Original date of writing, March 1988

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success