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Perfect Shards

They called the vase resplendent
With it's beauty independent
Of the jewels, gold, and pendants
that surrounded, on display.

They saw the colors blooming
Paint so vibrant, yet unassuming
But a sadness was entombing
That delightful little vase.

And who could truly beguile?
That soul, who ran the aisle
and 'midst laughter and a smile
knocked the vase upon the floor.

The connoisseurs, they mourned
All the curators forlorn
Could the hall, it still adorn?
That shattered, broken vessel.

But none of them could know
That the vase, who'd caught the blow
Was always shards that didn't show
Staying upright, yet broken still.

And all they'd need to do
Was place the pieces back anew
And the shape would still hold true
That vase, with perfect shards.

The other spectacles might stand
Without viewers knowing their brand
Of misfortune, hurt, or strand
Each has blemishes and bruises.

Yet, like the vase they show
their brushstrokes, all aglow.
Their artistry, they know
is the maker's, pure and precious.



The inspiration for this poem comes in part from the message given by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, A Broken Vessel.


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