My Grandpa lived in Maine
Not a long ways from the bay
He farmed a little land
We helped to gather hay
When chores were all completed
Down to the shore we’d go
Digging up the clams
Encrusted in the soil
We’d clean the dirt off carefully
Then in the pot they’d go
All cleaned from dirt and grime
With butter we enjoyed
Our lives are like those clams
The dirt of sin and shame
Has captured us from birth
We cannot clean it’s stain
God gave us His son
To clean us from all sin
His sacrifice of love
Will cleanse our hearts within
In response to the daily prompt Encrusted
What a beautiful memory and analogy for life! Love this one, Pete!
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Thanks, Lynn
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Man I loved that analogy. And truthfully, I had the same on the North Shore of Boston. I miss those days with my Dad and my Gramps. Good days indeed.
Thanks for the memory.
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Always a great memory for me to. Loved those clams fresh from the ocean!
Be blessed
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