The Whittled

Nothing there was, wasn’t whittled
Whether a skill or an ideal or life’s simple things
Win or lose, you whittled that
Sink or swim, you whittled that too

Even God whittled man from the dust of the ground
Then, whittled woman from the flesh He’d bound
The whittler, not the talker, wins respect
For only the whittled can we perfect

An idea is never enough
Neither can a blueprint take you there
But the whittling, the grinding, the effort-
When you have that, you make your place here
Not on our lips alone
But in our hearts and memories



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