I sent locust to the garden,
A plague of unbelief.
A blooming heart
Now closing,
Strange, is this feeling
Relief ?
Tender shoots of hope
Got too much rain,
Too much attention and hoeing,
Some got scorched, hearts suffered pain,
So there was speed in the going.
Let it Alone!
But I, like a child,
Bothered and fussed and fretted,
Sitting, watching,
Somewhat bequiled,
Then all my bother regretted.
What is a garden
Not left to grow?
Impatient
To see the Hand work.
Causing the miracle
After faith's sow,
Never to break through the dirt.
by
Annie
March 1988 ©