Digging Up Clams

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

4 thoughts on “Digging Up Clams

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