The Garden

The ground is hard and unyielding.
The stones are buried deep.
Thistles grow tall;
Weeds proliferate.

The spade will cut the ground,
Plunging and turning soil.
The stones will be unearthed;
The weeds pulled and tossed.

A plow will till and turn,
Leaving fine, loose dirt.
A place for seed
To sprout and grow.

The storms are beneficial,
The sun provides the light.
The Master works with hoe
Destroying thorn and thistle.

Green shoots appear,
And there where once
Was barren land
A garden in beauty grows.

And so it is with you and me.
Empty, barren souls.
Will we yield to the turning,
Weeding, planting and the Master?

Will the seeds planted in us
Grow and flourish?
Will we withstand the storms
Producing abundant growth?

The choice is mine and yours.

2 thoughts on “The Garden

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