Is spread liberally throughout my day;
But even with vision as sharp as knife,
Too often I'm blind to God's display.
A spectrum of kindness from His hand,
Unrequited by my heart,
Is an intricate mural of painted sand
Whose observer must step away to see the art.
I labor in the details of the day
Too busy to appreciate the whole,
Like seeing each brushstroke of Claude Monet
But never seeing the sunrise in my soul.
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