Shaving In The Dark

Blood on my face.
A wound from shaving in the dark.
A scar from an angry battle with my soul.
This is how the story goes.
A simple question from my little girl.
A question of the things of life.
A chance for hope.
A chance to share
some wisdom to help her cope.
I chose to set things right,
to fill the air with words of strife.
How some people aren't very nice
all the while hiding my own vice.
I spoke of evils, but not my own.
I chose to let her walk alone.
Plunging  into the darkest cold
I left her in the wilderness to roam.
In my pride I ranted on
until finally I was done.
Feeling smug with my vain words
as the world struggled on.
Killing and hatred was the score
of my miserable symphony.
All hope was lost as the war continued on
in the shallow pursuit of my own gain.
I had given sorrow the upper hand
instead of words she could understand.
But my daughter set me straight
with words of a simple faith.
With a song in a voice so sweet
she set the world back on its feet.
"Jesus loves the little children.
All the children of the world.
Red, yellow, black, and white
they are precious in his sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world."
With her faith she set me right
and showed me just where I stood.
A man with blood on his face
from shaving in the dark.

Jesus Loves The Little Children; C. Herbert Woolston, George F. Root.