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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Vision (08/03/06)

TITLE: God's Garden
By Tracy Patrowicz


Godís Garden

My woes weigh heavy as I sit in my chair
To look out upon a tired garden
I sigh as I remember all the time spent there
My worries light, my calluses hardened

I had weeded and pruned and planted
As God intended the earth to be worked
I watered and cultivated as demanded
My duties I did not shirk

Somehow I lost sight of the joy and the glory
Through the pain in my back and sweat on my brow
I could envision no end to the story
I can envision no end even now

In the distance just beyond the overgrowth
A single white rose still blooms
A trumpet vine smothers a crackled trellis
And night flowers open to the moon

Once upon a time I planned a paradise
I put my heart and soul into the soil
I would talk to God and seek his advice
For to Him always I am loyal

I asked where to plant new roots
And to this place I was led
I grew a family of cherubs and angels
And gave them a home to rest their heads

My angels now have flown away
And my cherubs visit now and then
My lord has called my true love to heaven
And now I too wither like my garden

I spy a spider spinning his web
Diligently working for his food
He glides so easily from peak to ebb
His legs agile tireless tools

I begin to admire the art therein
The sun casting light through each little window
Spin little spider, spin
ĎTill dusk sets upon you soft early dew

I begin to cheer the earnest arachnid
Baited I wait with him for prey
Funny his existence should enthrall me so
His fortitude giving way to the day

An unwitting victim cannot break free
Iím torn with glee and despair
The beauty of the plan was to be
Yet for the fly it doesnít seem fair

Like the fly I am in fear for the end
I have prayed to my Lord for sight
To show me the way I have fallen from
But I hear not His words nor see His light

Perhaps the spider shows me the way
Taking a little corner at a time
Do just enough each and every day
And my reward I may someday find

My hands are old and stiff and tired
And still I fold them in silence
My words are barely a whisper
My head is bowed in reverence

I awake to see the morning sun
And to my surprise and inspiration
My garden it blooms full and awesome
I am befuddled with my elation

From my chair I arise to open the doors
To take in the aroma of this miracle
I am inclined to turn back once more
But my heart pulls me to this oracle

Could it be Godís hand at work here?
Could it be the way that I have asked for?
Filled with scent so heavenly I float
High over Godís garden and splendor

My hands are no longer wrinkled
My shoulders feel strong and squared
I see my true love she smiles at me
She calls to me from an orchard of pears

She plucks a fruit and hands it to me
Itís good to feel her touch
She tells me I must awake now
I tell her I miss her so much

I remember something about time
And how my clock still ticks on earth
I remember my love fading away
I remember how much it hurt

My mind is at ease as I sit in my chair
To look out upon a tired garden
I sigh as I remember all the time spent there
My worries light, my calluses hardened

I look down at my hands still folded in prayer
They are wrinkled and stiff and tired
In rest God showed me the way there
But my time on earth has not yet expired

In confidence now of my way found
I open the garden door
I duck the web where the fly is still bound
But I fear not the end anymore

My watering can is rusty now
I fill it to the brim
A dream has showed me promise
But there is more to do before Heíll let me in

I caress gently the single white rose
Still thriving in an unkempt space
I see in this rose a miracle
I see my true loveís face

My garden, His garden

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Member Comments
Member Date
Stacey LaMontagne08/12/06
Very nice. Rather sad but has a good ending. A good reminder to keep going when grief wants to weigh us down.

I like stories in poems. I am experimenting with that style myself.

Helen Paynter08/13/06
This was beautiful and moving. You used some lovely descriptions. THe next challenge in your writing is going to be to tighten up rhyme and meter wiithout losing 'soul'. Good job.