A young girl sits on Granpas’ knee,

her eyes displaying wonder,

The old man says, “My Potpourri,

what is it, makes you ponder?”

The little girl sweet as a pea

touches her cheek and asks, “Did God make me?”

The Elder nods and kisses her brow,

“Of course He did, you didn’t know?

She looks at him, her eyes so blue,

“Grandpapa, did God make you, too?”

A smile, a nod, a knowing twinkle,

she raises her hand and touches a wrinkle,

she glides her fingers over his leathered face,

and says, “God is getting better at it, in His grace.”