How patient He must be.
He sculpted the stars
And moulded the mountains.
He painted the rivers, the oceans,
And carved the continents.

They’re perfect.
Just how He imagined.
He made them in a mere week.

But me?
I’m the unfinished masterpiece.
Eighteen years on
And I’m still not complete.

He’s so loving,
Not to give up on me.
I’m a work in progress,
An unfinished painting.

But the artist loves me so.
The planets and the mountains were the easy part
But now He has to finish this incomplete heart.