All my little somethings.

How often I dreamed

Of something

Made from nothing,

Waxed poetically

About the “one day”

That sat so far forward

in my future.

But now “one day”

Is this day,

And gathered round,

All my little somethings

I never made at all,

But He did,

Graciously bestowing

Upon me things

My hands were

Never fit to build.

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