Immortal Platypus

The carpenter, in his small shop,
Had many blocks of wood. 
Some oak, some pine, some warped and knotted,
"But all," he said, "are good."

Each day he takes one block of wood,
And asks,"What should I do?
I am so skilled, I can do anything,
What should I make of you?"

Some blocks are overjoyed, and then,
They let the carpenter work,
But most are hesitant because,
The carpentry really hurts.

One normal day the carpenter
He went and he picked me.
He lifted me and then he said
"What do you want to be?"

My mind first thought of the other blocks
That he carved and made so good,
But then to the pain it surely took
To carve out all that wood.

"Oh no," I said. "I am just fine,
Just as a simple block.
I could not bear to be changed.
It seems it hurts a lot."

So on the shelf he put me back.
I caught something in his eye.
He seemed so sad that I said "No,"
But all I thought was "Why?"

Why would he be sad that I said no?
He has so many more.
He surely could work with all the others,
The blocks of wood in his store.

I am but one small block of wood,
What need has he to cry?
If he asks me if I want to change
And I quietly deny?

But on and on the carpenter went,
Working wood inside of his store.
He took each plain block of wood
And made it so much more.

Oh how I wanted to be like them,
The work of the carpenters' hands.
He made them so beautiful, but at what cost?
Too high were the demands!

If only I could find a way
To do it all myself.
But I am just a block of wood.
I surely need his help.

I called him back, he quickly came,
A different look in his eye.
I said to him, quietly and ashamed,
"I am ready to try."

"Oh no," I thought. "Am I too late?
I already said no.
And without him there is no chance
For me to ever grow."

He picked me up and held me near
So I could see his face.
"You'll always have a chance" he said.
"You'll always have a place."

So, apprehensive as I was,
The carpenter got to work.
He pulled out chisel and hammer and nail.
I knew it was going to hurt.

He put chisel to wood and cut off a huge knot.
The pain was a lot to bear.
Did he really need to do that to me?
Was there something really bad there?

The carpenter must have felt my thoughts,
For he stopped and spoke.
"I had to cut off that bad part
So the rest of you could be made whole."
"But that really hurt.  Could you be softer?"
I implored him to tell.
"I know that it hurt, but look at my hand.
I cut myself as well.

"I am holding you tight so you don't slip
While I am making you so good,
But as I hold you I cut myself
As well as cutting the wood."

I then felt small for complaining and asked
"Is there no other way?"
"For you to be perfect" he gently replied,
"Here, my hands must stay."

So on he did cut my block and his hands
To shape and figure me.
It hurt me a bit but him it hurt more
To be as he wants me to be.

After what seemed an eternity of pain
The carpenter stopped his sweat.
And looking over his handiwork,
He said "You are my best."

I looked in the mirror and saw myself,
So different than before.
What he had made me was so beautiful.
I could never ask for more!

I turned around and looked at him,
As tears filled his eyes.
"Thank you," he said to me,
And again I thought "Why?"

It was his hands covered with blood,
While I was shiny and clean.
It was not I that suffered the most
But him on whom I leaned.

So why was he grateful for me today?
What made me so good?
He is the carpenter, master of all,
And me, a block of wood.

And once again my thoughts he knew.
"It's not because I'm fine.
I am not grateful my hands are cut.
I'm grateful that you're mine.

"There are many different blocks of wood,
How do I love you?
Because of when you let me in
And what you let me do.

"You started out a normal block,
But through my grace divine
I made you very beautiful.
What's more, I made you mine.

"I did more than you could alone,
Though to what did I gain?
Through helping you be as I want
I did endure much pain.

"To sacrifice my hands is much,
Too much for others to bear,
But because I want the best for you
I keep my hands there."