I do not know how to garden.
To know it's worth.
To take soft brown earth and crumble it.
Until it's dust covers my soul.
Then to shake it from my still bare feet.
Oh, to know the warmth of Eden.
To water it and call it my own.
Then to walk with God
And call him my friend.
But Eden is lost.
By the selfishness of man.
Only to be regained.
By nail scared hands.
Read more articles by david Smith or search for articles on the same topic or others.
