The Carpenter Jesus was a carpenter, My husband is one, too Most every nail he ever drove And words he spoke to me are true His hands are rough, his back is strong His honor and his faith secure But he is not too big a man To weep with sorrow, or with joy The tears of one whose heart is pure And when he laughs, he's like a child To whom the world is new and fresh In contrast to his craftmanship A precise skill he does possess He shares this knowledge willingly With those who need his help the most And never asks for anything And never feels the need to boast At times he is preoccupied By troubles of family or friend Or others of the world outside Who on his strength always depend Though grief and worry flood his mind He does not easily forget-- But suffers long--and then is kind And though he has no wealth or fame Some kind of earthly legacy Just love and kindness--a better treasure No tape is large enough to measure-- Which he will leave here for his children And, I know, someday, for me Poetry