With your carpenters hands
And your carpenters fingers,
You could construct a house
A table, a chair, a cabinet, a pergola
From a cut down tree.
But, you built for me
A birdhouse so simple
With your tools of hammers
Saw, nails, glue, chisels, lathe
And built it big enough
For a small sparrow to nest.
With sandpaper, you smoothed
The rough-cut edges
And brushed on layers of varnish
For it to withstand all sorts of weather.
The birdhouse still stands
To this very day
And has welcomed generations
Of a sparrow family.
But you have gone,
Taken your tools,
For someone in heaven,
Needs a birdhouse.