The oak table in the corner, sturdy and solid,
Under the candelabra ,
In the farmhouse,
A cracked jug on top.
With other kitchen accruements
Laid out neatly
By the stove,
The plates and tankards
Strung on the wall,
It’s easy to ignore
The cracked jug.
Most visitors were apathetic
Regarding the unglazed vessel
That had been left
By an old fisherman.
Even the new tenants
And their friends
And families
Dismissed it
As aesthetically spoiling.
And the old fisherman
Who once lived there
Knew what it was like
To be ignored
And untouched
And unloved,
Saw the blemish on the jug
As a scar
That defined the jug
A perceptible imperfect mark.
So before he died
The old fisherman
Dropped a large pearl
Inside the jug
And left it there.
When he was gone,
And when people came by the farmhouse
They ignored the dirty old jug
Sitting alone; like the old man
Would sit alone,
Not realizing that if they looked inside,
They would see the real beauty
The true value,
And their lives could have been changed
Forever.
Categories: Art, Blog, Creative writing, Philosophy, Photography, Poetry, uncategorised
A Different Country 
Leave a Reply