Saturday, April 10, 2010

Written almost one year prior to this day.

You do all things
in seasons:
sowing, growth,
pruning, reaping.
Toil hard, You who
eternally cuts away
the dead in

Let my life be
as a garden.
Annual sin covered
With perennial mercy,
Perennial goodness --
Returning year after year.

You replace the hard soil
of my soul
with that which
to blossom
into a fragrance
pleasing to you,
My Gardener.

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