A miner may mine a thousand mines,
A writer may write a thousand lines,
And still find themselves nothing of value
A mosquito may poke a thousand holes
A preacher may teach a thousand souls,
And still find nothing close to a virtue.
A reader may read a thousand books,
A lover may read a thousand looks,
And find only what they already knew.
I have written and preached,
And looked a reached,
Out to find where it went.
But the world one can scour
For hours and hours
And still never find
Is it under a rock,
In the sea near a dock
Where millions of fishies reside?
Iâ€™m sure its small as a mouse
Living under a house.
A truly wonderful place to hide.
Is it inside a tree,
And possessed by the wee
Gnomes who make home within?
Try to look in and see,
And youâ€™ll hear, â€œLeave me be!
Cause I found it first, so I win!â€