Trapped firmly by the foot of God,
Held painfully against a well-seated stone.
Squirming to free myself from His relentless grip,
Or nudge slightly to escape the jagged edges of torment.
At last giving up my fight expecting to be crushed,
To find, instead, the stone slowly beginning to slip.
Held firmly now by the hand of God,
Bruised and bleeding from my fight.
Exhausted I lie gently within His palm,
No struggle remains nor crushing pain,
But merely the gentle warmth of His embrace,
A healing touch, a soothing balm.
Held firmly by the plan of God.
With no power left within my frame.
Just battered, sickly and lean.
Wishing only His will for what remains.
Placed squarely within a Godly scheme.
As He rolls stony paths clean.
GW Yeatman
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