When a soul is gardened, a rose can't help but bloom...
|You're the gardener, and my soul, the flower;
you happened upon me when I was but a seed,
tossed aside, disregarded,
left to fend for myself in untilled soil.
You grasped me with feather fingertips,
cupping me in your palms,
cloaking me with your warmth;
you gazed at me with eyes of
love and understanding I'd never known.
You held me, your grip unyielding
as your fervored breath swept across me,
dusting off the freshest mud
blanketing my old wounds;
I was renewed.
Replanted, I settled into the
newly tilled, nurturing soil of your life,
still surrounded by darkness,
but sustained by your light;
I began to grow.
I shifted, energized by the life-giving heat
coursing from your heart
as my thirst was quenched
by the water raining from your soul;
you offered new hope--I accepted.
Together, unfailingly, we grew,
my roots anchoring in the comfort of your soil;
you tended to this once
abandoned and neglected seed
and soon I became a rose.
I bloomed, my stem rising to heaven;
a bud became a flourishing flower
with crimson petals eager to bask in the sun
while awaiting the rain the world is sure to send.
Thanks, Roybe , for the gardener, and mssarcasm, for the sun and rain in the end.
"Rose" photograph is Copyright © Microsoft Clip Art