We had hiked the hills a long, long way <br />My privilege was to gift their feet that day <br />Soak in warm water, soothe with mint lotion <br />Seemed to me just the right heaven-sent potion <br />My desire, you see, was to mimic my Lord <br /> <br />Their refusal to allow it caught me off guard <br />My gift was unwanted, unaccepted, and scorned <br />No concern had they; oh, my heart was torn <br />It occurred to me then how my Savior's gift waits <br />To be opened and entered as tabernacle gates <br /> <br />Will His everlasting Gift I glibly ignore <br />As He washes my feet on His infinite shore<br /><br />Barbara Attaway<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gift-18/
