When Prayers Waft Through My Garden Bed

A bit of ground had beckoned once;

Softened, sandy-colored soil;

Rooted deeply, wherein Choice and

Chance diminished symmetry,

Yet offered solace still for me.

Simply, plainly, unadorned…

Tinted leaves in sky-kissed blue.


When prayers waft through my garden bed,

I find the dreams I’d planted there.

A Master’s Hand had long ago

Spread wide the scent-filled plumes,

So I might seek His Opened Arms.

Simply, plainly, unadorned…

Rich honey-golden hues.