A poem by my daughter – Guest Writer

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The Garden of my Soul

By Mara

In the garden of my soul

stands a dead and blackened tree;

on it, not a leaf rests

The sun scorches each bare branch

The ground around,

is dry and cracked

Every drop of rain,

greedily soaked up

The fruit, its fruit!

If a shriveled pear

hung limply from its branches,

birds would perch on its limbs

sweetly singing

 

One clouded day

the sun could not pierce,

the earth itself trembled

A single drop, fell to the ground

and a river began to flow

It did not trickle, it rushed

The earth could not hold it all

It seeped through the cracks,

down to the tree’s outstretched roots

A time uncounted had passed

since they had embraced

water’s cool touch

stroking the roots with its gentle streams;

its life soaked into the core of the tree

The drought is over

 

In the garden of my soul

stands a firmly planted tree

Rivers of living water sustain it

Its roots will never know thirst

The sun nourishes its lavish foliage;

the green gleaming in its luminous rays,

an emerald gleaming in a sapphire sea

The fruit, oh its fruit!

If its limbs did not course

with sap’s sustaining strength

its branches would bow to the ground

Abundant fruit that only ever multiplies;

never corrupted or souring

The tree’s presence speaks of abundant life,

birds perching on its limbs

sweetly singing