Poetry

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Once more I walk, pass the special seed
You have planted in my garden just for me.
I smile like many times before,
Then, stop.

I wonder why it is there.

You come; you embrace me, and lay my head
on Your beating chest. You stroke my hair.
“Child,” You say, “now this seed is special,
under my special care, my hand does hold it.
Be patient dear one, in time it will grow
And then you will see the fruit of this tree.”

I look up, “But why. Why must I wait?”

“I tell you my daughter, you must not haste.
For if the seed does grow too fast, this I can tell you: it will not last.
My timing is perfect. Trust and wait.”

I say, “My Father, your word is true, for here in the garden look at all that’s bloomed!”
I pray, as I kneel upon the soil,
“Bless this special seed for every tomorrow.”

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