**************************


The Gardener's Song



In dreams of night and then of late,
I saw my Lord at my garden’s gate.
He opened it wide and welcomed me in,
And we drank tea, and discussed the winds
for they were often changing.

In due time I asked Him how the rose would do
I told Him then of tulips red, and pink peonies, too.
And then I said, “Is it time, to leave my garden
here?
I’ve labored long to plant your words, and to
harvest dear.”

“Oh,” He said with gorgeous smile, “You planted
blessings well,
And hearts have grown close to me, and their
fruiting tells
Of all your work and love-seeds, child.  And you
shined the mercy-sun.
Indeed,” He said so sweetly, “My servant, job well
done.”

“But the winds!” I replied, “Those, I could not
control!
They blew, they changed; they even brought
cursed cold!
The garden would have better grown, had I only
been more strong,
How can you speak so well of me that often did
much wrong?”

“Oh,” He said with but a laugh, “Tis true when you
were young
You planted truth before their heart was warmed
by mercy-sun.
And at times you closed the gate to the seekers I
brought by,
But I opened it ... anyway, ... once you stepped
aside.”

“As for the winds,” He continued on, “Alone I sent
them all,
For when changes blew upon your garden, I knew
how then you’d call
On me, my child.  And to your side I flew,
For four hands can garden always better than just
two.”

And then He waved His hand -- another gate did
open now,
And trumpet vines blared sweet perfume!  And
golden grasses bowed!
And ten thousand gardeners gone before shouted
e’er so loud,
“Praise to the Master Gardener!”  And I shouted
with the crowd!

Like whitened wheat swayed we, in hymns and
songs of old,
Of every tribe, and language, His truths we did
extol!
Praise poured forth from those He called ‘His Own’!
Twas the fruits of ten thousand gardens gathered
at His throne!

So, weep not for me my children, for I think this
dream is true.
And was sent to but a friend, and written down for
you.
Jesus opened heaven’s gate wide, and has now
welcomed me in,
And we drink tea together, and finally,
even
understand the winds.

**************************


(c) Copyright Caryn LeMur 2007
The Collection of Short Works,
Letters, and Poems
The Gardener's Song
Her father, a retired pastor, was
near death.

On Monday and Tuesday, I began
to compose a reply to help
strengthen her.

I finished, and sent the poem 'The
Gardener's Song' to her that
Tuesday.

Her father was taken home to
glory on Wednesday.

In this writing, there are
characters:

    - there is a dreamer, which is
    her father;

    - there are the children,
    which are his many children
    still alive;

    - there is also a 'friend', and
    that is me.

    Oh, and there is the 'Master
    Gardener'... I think you can
    tell whom that is, right?  <soft
    smile>

Much love; Caryn
In Deepest Sympathy -
Poetry for those that grieve
Building Faith, Hope, & Love -
Stories and Writings
A Cup Of Cold Water -
Letters For The Thirsty
A Pause In The Forest -
Poetry for thoughtful moments