I think the best poem ever written is The Touch of "The Touch of The Master's Hand" written by Myra Brooks Welch, and I feel like typing it so I'll share it here.----
The Touch of the Master's Hand-
'Twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile
"What am I bidden good folks," he cried,
"Who will start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, then, "Two!" "Only two?"
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three," But no,
From the room, far back ,a gray haired man,
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As sweet as a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low
Said, "What am I bidden for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow,
One thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?"
Two thousand dollars and who'll make it three?"
Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
And going and gone!
The people cheered, but some of them cried.
"We do no quite understand
What changed its worth? Swift came the reply,
"The touch of the master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune
And battered and scattered with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin,
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine;
A game- and he travels on.
He's "going" once, and "going" twice
He's "going" and almost "gone",
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul, and the change that is wrought,
By the touch of the Master's Hand."
-Myra Brooks Welch
The Touch of the Master's Hand-
'Twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile
"What am I bidden good folks," he cried,
"Who will start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, then, "Two!" "Only two?"
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three," But no,
From the room, far back ,a gray haired man,
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As sweet as a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low
Said, "What am I bidden for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow,
One thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?"
Two thousand dollars and who'll make it three?"
Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
And going and gone!
The people cheered, but some of them cried.
"We do no quite understand
What changed its worth? Swift came the reply,
"The touch of the master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune
And battered and scattered with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin,
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine;
A game- and he travels on.
He's "going" once, and "going" twice
He's "going" and almost "gone",
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul, and the change that is wrought,
By the touch of the Master's Hand."
-Myra Brooks Welch
