Dust and the Maker

What is a violin without the bow?
What is dust without the Maker?
Who would say,
"Look at the dust, how lovely?"

Gray dust
Blown by the reckless wind
Floundering in the adulterated air
As pointless in its rise
As it is pointless in its fall

Dust by itself, formless.
Formless with no value
But, let the dust be formed!
Let the Maker play His sweet tune
Let rest your gray body in His soft hand

Trust the Maker
Heed His voice
Hide His word in your heart
For He will fill you with color
And play you with a tune of praise.