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
I’ve labored long to plant your words, and to
“Oh,” He said with gorgeous smile, “You planted
And hearts have grown close to me, and their
Of all your work and love-seeds, child. And you
shined the mercy-sun.
Indeed,” He said so sweetly, “My servant, job well
“But the winds!” I replied, “Those, I could not
They blew, they changed; they even brought
The garden would have better grown, had I only
been more strong,
How can you speak so well of me that often did
“Oh,” He said with but a laugh, “Tis true when you
You planted truth before their heart was warmed
And at times you closed the gate to the seekers I
But I opened it ... anyway, ... once you stepped
“As for the winds,” He continued on, “Alone I sent
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
And then He waved His hand -- another gate did
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
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
Jesus opened heaven’s gate wide, and has now
welcomed me in,
And we drink tea together, and finally,
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
On Monday and Tuesday, I began
to compose a reply to help
I finished, and sent the poem 'The
Gardener's Song' to her that
Her father was taken home to
glory on Wednesday.
In this writing, there are
- there is a dreamer, which is
- there are the children,
which are his many children
- 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
Much love; Caryn
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