Her heart is a desert; a scorched, arid land
Where sorrow is cactus, and bitterness, sand.
She shelters the scorpions of loneliness there:
They flourish, while feeding on wasps of despair.
The desert and the parched land will be glad…
So tired of the wilderness, sand in her veins,
She yearns for refreshment--for soft, cleansing rains;
But rattlesnakes occupy each shadowed den,
Devouring her longings, again and again.
…The wilderness will rejoice and blossom…
Where once was a brook, now a dry riverbed
Winds through her sad spirit. No streamlet—instead,
A path baked by grief. But look! Now from the earth
Comes a stream of redemption, renewal, rebirth.
…Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom…
By Christ’s living water her heart is revived;
Now crocuses bloom where saguaro once thrived.
No longer a desert, her heart is a place
Of beauty and gladness—transformed by God’s grace.
…It will rejoice greatly, and shout for joy.
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