This Harp

The dust completely covered
the memories of old,
as I sat in my attic,
as melodies turned cold -
though still completely faithful
for all these many years,
I had no lone ability
to perk up hungry ears.

Until the seed was planted,
forgiven all, times seven -
until I grew through practice -
a harvest seen in Heaven -
until revived with water -
until restored with oil -
this harp was all but worthless,
lacked spirit through my toil.

BUT THEN set to a purpose
and held in humble love,
full notes created music
which floated high above.
This harp exposed a message,
our melodies took wing -
but only when His fingers
strummed each and every string.