I set out on my
daily run, my Walkman on my side.
Lost within my
private world apart from cares and woes
I ran along the
moistened shore, the sand between my toes.
In the distance, I
saw a boy, as busy as can be.
He was running,
stooping, picking up, and tossing in the sea.
Just what he threw,
I couldn't tell, I looked as I drew near.
It seemed to be a
rock or shell — as I approached him I could hear:
"Back you go,
where you belong. You're safe now hurry home.
Your family's
waiting for you, little starfish, hurry on!"
It seemed the
evening tide had washed the starfish on the shore,
And the swift
receding water left a thousand there or more.
And this
self-appointed savior, was trying one-by-one
To toss them back
into the sea, against the racing sun.
I saw his plight was
hopeless, that most of them would die.
I called out from my
private world, "Hey Kid, why even try?"
"Must be at
least a thousand here, strewn along the beach,
And even if you had
the time, most you'll never reach.
You really think it
makes a difference, to waste your time this way?"
And then I paused
and waited, just to hear what he would say.
He stooped and took
another, and looked me in the eye.
"It makes a
difference to this one sir, this starfish will not die!"
With that, he tossed
the little life, back where there was hope.
He stooped to take
another. I could tell this was no joke.
The words that he
spoke to me cut like a surgeon's knife.
Where I saw only
numbers, he saw only life.
He didn't see the
multitude of starfish on the sand.
He only saw the
little life he held there in his hand.
He didn't stop to
argue, to prove that he was right.
He just kept tossing
starfish in the sea with all his might.
So I too stooped,
and I picked up, and I tossed into the sea,
And I thought, just
what a difference, that this boy has made in me.
© By Randy Poole (A
Missionary in Nicaragua)
