The Garden
A grove of oaks
Stands stoic amid a field.
Its isolation is stark, like an island,
And its surrounding grassland extends
As far as the eye can see.
At the center of the grove,
Resting safely beneath the trees
Is a lush garden of roses,
And a canopy broad and comforting
Shelters the garden beneath.
The soothing spring sunlight
Shines softly through;
Its light is a nourishing gift from above.
The soft smell of roses,
Sweet and intoxicating, wafts to the heights above.
This garden’s soil is fresh;
Its soft, moist earth is sweet in smell.
Bountiful is this blessed earth,
And all the plants set firm in this soil
Are fruitful and blessed.
At the heart of this garden
Is a rose bush, with its blossoms
A deep alluring red in full bloom
And its delicate leaves verdant,
Full of life and of hope.
But at its base, a weed springs forth.
Its stature is small and its blossom insignificant.
The plant is a mistake, its existence here out of place.
Still, it exists out of love from the Maker.
It is a meager dandelion, with blossom golden bright.
Yet the dandelion is still out of place,
With all the blooming roses
That triumphantly soar in the towering heights.
It clings to the rose bush’s base like a vine
And chokes from it its life and beauty,
So enchanting, mystifying and divine,
For it is blind to the splendor the world sees.
For the roses are love,
And the dandelion is mere attraction.
Its stunted growth is a mere shadow
Compared to the fullness of life that is above.
And so the Gardener enters the sanctified grove,
Treading carefully to its very center.
A mighty breeze blows through the grove,
And the dandelion quivers violently amid the wind.
Humbled, the dandelion releases its fortified grip
From the rose bush’s tortured base,
And the Gardner approaches it
Quietly with loving care and grace.
He knows of the dandelion’s intentions,
Of its loving desire for embrace,
For He remembers all His plants,
Whatever stage in life they may be.
He forgets not His plans for each of them,
Especially the solitary dandelion
Which He takes into His hands
And brings to another fertile land
To let blossom for all the world to see.
Stands stoic amid a field.
Its isolation is stark, like an island,
And its surrounding grassland extends
As far as the eye can see.
At the center of the grove,
Resting safely beneath the trees
Is a lush garden of roses,
And a canopy broad and comforting
Shelters the garden beneath.
The soothing spring sunlight
Shines softly through;
Its light is a nourishing gift from above.
The soft smell of roses,
Sweet and intoxicating, wafts to the heights above.
This garden’s soil is fresh;
Its soft, moist earth is sweet in smell.
Bountiful is this blessed earth,
And all the plants set firm in this soil
Are fruitful and blessed.
At the heart of this garden
Is a rose bush, with its blossoms
A deep alluring red in full bloom
And its delicate leaves verdant,
Full of life and of hope.
But at its base, a weed springs forth.
Its stature is small and its blossom insignificant.
The plant is a mistake, its existence here out of place.
Still, it exists out of love from the Maker.
It is a meager dandelion, with blossom golden bright.
Yet the dandelion is still out of place,
With all the blooming roses
That triumphantly soar in the towering heights.
It clings to the rose bush’s base like a vine
And chokes from it its life and beauty,
So enchanting, mystifying and divine,
For it is blind to the splendor the world sees.
For the roses are love,
And the dandelion is mere attraction.
Its stunted growth is a mere shadow
Compared to the fullness of life that is above.
And so the Gardener enters the sanctified grove,
Treading carefully to its very center.
A mighty breeze blows through the grove,
And the dandelion quivers violently amid the wind.
Humbled, the dandelion releases its fortified grip
From the rose bush’s tortured base,
And the Gardner approaches it
Quietly with loving care and grace.
He knows of the dandelion’s intentions,
Of its loving desire for embrace,
For He remembers all His plants,
Whatever stage in life they may be.
He forgets not His plans for each of them,
Especially the solitary dandelion
Which He takes into His hands
And brings to another fertile land
To let blossom for all the world to see.
