Eleven
“The joys of our household are in jeopardy
for we know the price of this Sprout!”
And she echoed my dread for we worked too hard
to willingly throw our gains out.
“Perhaps a returning,” she spoke of a plan,
“To old world would make Its growth cease.”
I fathomed the logic that she had proposed
to help save of our laboured peace.
Return celebrations were heralds of past
(intensity caused us to reel!);
our yesterday faces, the friends of ago
presumed frozen time in their zeal.
Our money was no good in all the old haunts.
Our drinks never seemed to run dry.
They’d say, “Good to see you.” and, “We’ll catch you later.”
None ever flat out said, “Goodbye.”
They loved us, they missed us, our lives lifted theirs;
upon us so many relied.
The stars of this circus, the center ring draw,
spotlit on the carousel ride.
And we were disgusted for plain was the truth:
the world deeply loathed our escape.
Its anger seethed open despite the attempt
to cover with friendliness drape.
Those we had called trusting were still the world’s pawns
(their weed flowers beautied in bloom)
seducing as we had for pain loves a crowd.
We left them for our hotel room.
We questioned and wondered for most of the night
the merits of world versus Seed,
but loss of possessions seemed too much to ask
for just freeing gardens from weed.
The local newspaper distracted my thoughts
and let me set Issue aside,
then all was forgotten. The paper declared
my old friend of silver hair died.
(My friend of such power in such a small man,
my friend who was so much like me.
Now you know all things that this life only guessed.
From age and from pain you are free.
How my heart shall miss you. You knew who I was
and better am I that we talked.
Just one thing I’d ask if I could: Special Seed?
Was He worth the path you have walked?)
I went to the service with her by my side
to wish well the man I thought lonely.
Astonished arrival denied me my words
for inside was standing room only!
I overheard mourners who spoke to his praise,
the pleasures of him they had known.
His bier, dwarfed by bouquets whose grandeur was paled
‘neath brilliance of his garden grown.
Our words had no voices when we travelled home,
the thoughts of our minds were the same.
My friend, who now rested, deceived by his looks.
His humble ways covered his fame.
His friendships abounded, both loving and true,
to make the world’s treasures look sad,
yet friends such as ours made our positions clear:
world treasures were all that we had.
We could not know Special Seed as a close friend.
Our world goods must serve to inspire.
But moot was the issue for our rented home
lay shattered, charred ruins of fire!!
Twelve
Despair was the only thing left to call ours.
Insurance had never been done,
and strived for possessions had made wages weak.
Our bank account read close to none.
Unanimous counsel of, what can we lose?
led us to a house of the Lord,
and realized dependence gave prayer to our hearts.
The Seed price we could now afford.
Remorsed tunnel vision which focused on gain
shed tears in the Lord’s mercy sought.
Our blind eyes, now opened, saw gardens in truth:
they needed the Seed growth we fought!
“Please save us, Lord Jesus!” our hearts cried as one
(humility clasped us that day).
Then we saw our gardens with tears turned to joy:
the thick weeds were taken away!!
…
…
…
…
The landlord and strangers secured us two months
a furnished one bedroom for home.
Employment awaited our settled return.
True thank-you’s enriched garden loam.
Our days were of labour, our eves garden growth,
Botanical studies resumed.
Unwarranted mercy let knowledge increase
(we hoped to soon see Flower bloomed).
So filling the hunger that grew within us,
so pointed the foods we were fed,
We ate and were sated and desired more
the truth in all that the Seed said.
Unravelled mysteries and answers to “why?”,
unlocking the wisdom of life.
Both princes and wise men had sought what we know
to surpass what this world called strife.
But we had not learned yet that knowledge increase
was not in itself the whole deal.
It’s wisdom that tempers the novice’s rush,
and we were due that for next meal.
Thirteen
The day came when we found our opened front door
and looked on delight to the soul:
our ransacked apartment in disarrayed mess
with TV and stereo stole!
We phoned a report to the local police
informing of crime that took place,
but we asked a favour: if culprit be caught
we wanted to speak to their face.
We lived in expectance of our hoped for roles
akin to the old silver hair,
and could not contain when, at last, chance arrived
(excitement was too much to bear!)
Like child on a birthday we laughed and we joyed
that we could impart what we know
to help a poor misfit who needed our care
that his barren garden could grow.
“How pretty, your flowers,” I said, feeling sly,
when I met the weed garden thief.
Correction orated, then charges were dropped
when he showed his conscience in grief.
Our home gave him dinner and we talked no more
of stolen goods, long ago sold.
“Our new cassette player gives us just as much.
Our need of world things has grown old.”
I told of Seed Special (his interest upfront)
while evening wore on to the night,
but sleep overcame him as he sat the couch.
We covered him, then doused the light
and went to our bedroom to talk of our deed
and wonder about our reward.
We drifted in slumber to dream of our gain,
new flowers of our own accord.
Day joyous awakened to open mouthed shock;
(a masterful weed garden con)
profanity lipsticked our living room walls –
young thief and cassette player gone.
Perplexed by the outcome we looked in our soil
to find where our reward came out.
Confusion became the sole gain of our search.
Not one single flower would sprout.
We delved in the Readings, we prayed our requests
to find why we suffered in vain.
For days we continued, unswerved from our course
in seeking why we lacked a gain.
Then followed rejection. Did our Lord not care?
Our searching would be done no more.
Our fervour succumbed to our dejected souls
… and then came the knock at our door.
Our new cassette player held out towards us
was like that scene: taken in slow.
Its presence surprised us, but not quite as much
as young thief with head hanging low.
“Forgive me, kind people!” he pleaded in tears,
“but I understand should you not.
Police must be summoned to take me away
to pay for the grief I have wrought!”
Our hearts overwhelmed and we cried for that boy,
so great was his pain that we felt.
We hugged for long moments upon the doorstep.
We knew vengeance could not be dealt.
“Come in, we do pray you. Forgiveness is done.
Revenge is not what we would give.”
He looked at us, grateful, and humbly revealed,
“Inside you, good purposes live.”
A new revelation! Our gardens were searched
to prove what we felt we would see.
Seed Special bloomed full while new flowers broke ground.
Good purposes helped colours be.
To strive only good deeds were vanity works.
Our spirits had not received care,
but good purpose leanings made uncounted deeds
and spirits were blessed to wax fair
for good purpose agreed with Special Seed way,
the path of His first reaching out.
Esteeming the blossoms of others in worth
does gentle more seedlings to sprout.
“I know the Seed is truth,” he said with belief.
Together we prayed on the floor
and as he was leaving we joyed in his gain:
his garden had thick weeds no more!
Fourteen
A spring time of gaiety ruled our abode.
Our Special Plant tended each day
while studies with hunger expanded our minds
to grow in the Gardening way.
The tender hand nurture provided by Bloom
caressed our landscape in Its glow,
however, the first spurts of growth eased their pace
to make further steps appear slow.
And time passed … then lingered each day as before.
Our studies and work settled down.
No new revelations, just unending time
of boredom in our little town.
The absence of service disguised any change.
Our flowers were always the same
for nothing new prospered despite what we learned.
Our tending of gardens seemed lame.
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” we thought every night
accompanied with sighs of doubt.
Our prayers were unanswered for nothing occurred.
Life, mundane day in and day out.
“I want to find fellowship sharing our our trek.”
She heard the full depth of my need.
“Perhaps in another’s trail we can partake
to increase supply of our Seed.”
Our joining a church to seek what we could do,
some service for flower increase,
gave quotes and instructions that they believed worked
if done every day without cease.
Though certain they meant well in offering thoughts
for they also journeyed like us,
in imitation we could not find response
as it seemed like planting in dust.
So much was the discourse of right over wrong,
of relationships by their lead.
Agreed was the thought that a sin was a sin,
but was He not personal Seed?
Yet wisdom is fully endorsed by her child
and these had much benefit time,
so we tried to follow the footsteps they made
despite that it seemed pantomime.
Regrets! What was ordered had not touched our hearts,
unchanged were our gardens from last,
so we left downtrodden and guilty. Perhaps
the day of Seed glory had passed.
Were we undeserving? Too wrong to have gain?
We prayed in our yearning to know,
“Did we desert Your Light?” we asked of our Lord,
“Our gardens ordained not to grow?”
An ungiven answer convinced light was gone.
Our gardens, and we, stood alone
and our forged depression increased in the flame
when bad new of loss came by phone:
“My mother has died and I’m needed by Dad.
He’s ill,” she said to me in tears.
While hers, my arms settled, inside mine had grown:
the prospect of loneliness fears.
That night I lay thinking when her sobs found sleep.
Together we could not afford
to go to her family, and so I must stay.
Just I, without her … or the Lord.
I feigned optimism to ease our goodbye
(but aching our split into two)
then back to our small home which then seemed quite large
to lose myself in things to do.
In flat’s second cleaning (the first went too fast)
the radio played sad lament.
I slumped on the couch with my tears on the verge
until they refused to be pent.
And lengthening shadows engulfed all the room
before I decided to rise.
I’d wearied the sofa so maybe the bed
could comfort my image-fraught eyes.
When sunshine awoke me (I’d not felt sleep come)
I smiled at the beauty of dawn,
but transpired events brought my memory grief.
The half of my whole was still gone.
My day was spent tending my labours of wage,
robotic my movements to serve,
while volatile feelings held back on a thread
would pounce at a nudge on my nerve.
Ashamed of behaviour, I burdened to home
the heavyweight sign of a dope.
I phoned my co-workers and humbly atoned
that they hurt from my lack to cope.
My feelings improved by their kindly response
for they were glad hearing from me.
They worried about me, as I had of them,
and wonders my garden did see!
The change, of a moment, when new flowers rose
had proven my error of fear.
My Lord was not gone when my garden stayed same.
Seed Special showed Him always near.
That He was the One with the seeds, not myself,
and neither was it any man,
was clear in the fact that it’s His way I walk:
It’s Him and not I with the plan.
The issue was faithfulness, holding to Him
and choosing for His way as best.
Deciding my anger and pine to repent
saw Plant take hoe, giving me rest.
To trust Him completely in all of my need
allowed confidence to extend
where peace was the ether between me and I,
and equal my ways towards men.
My sorrow forsook that He would not forsake,
when I thought the Lord did not care.
My vision omitted the Seed Special Bloom,
the truth that He always was there.
That night in a phone call with her that I loved
I told of my flowers anew.
Our joy was in common when she had replied
that new flowers grew for her, too.
“Depressed by your absence,” recounted her tale,
“my attitude suffered a fall.
I hated the duties required by Dad!
Not you, nor the Lord, could I call.
Your phone went unanswered, my garden the same,
I felt but a half of my whole.
My feelings were bitter that I had no gain
till bitterness tasted my soul.
“My kind, loving father had suffered my wrath –
an honourless daughter was I –
but then shame remembered the joys of my youth
with parents of love always nigh.
“When I put my hopes in myself and in man
to fill out the beddings of need
I bypassed the Reason I even have growth.
I had ignored my Special Seed.
How could I be like Him with Him set aside?
I acted so much like before!
When back to my senses I realized the waste
my knees straightway bent to the floor.
“I cried for forgiveness from father and Lord
which they gave without second thought,
and new sprouting flowers had shown me in truth
the flowers are given, not bought!”
And we were together though distance was great,
alike in our mind and our heart.
Our gardens had Comfort, perpetual Care.
The Lord had lit both though apart.
Fifteen
Elation awakened had counted the days
for joining together of us.
Much to be related – I stood for two hours
awaiting her returning bus.
The doors hissed their parting and I caught her flight.
The same, yet she differed so much!
And she also noticed the change within me
while stirring remembrance in touch.
“Your garden’s so lovely,” I whispered her ear,
“Your flowers of yellow and blue.”
”And your flowers … orange,” her scrutiny said,
“and purple. Your garden shines, too.”
We hurried on home for our story exchange
to learn of our new blossoms grown.
We both had in common omission of sight
to feel He had left us alone.
The distance was needed. Plant Special had taught
that His Light would always give gain.
We must tend our own individual plants.
Dependence on others was vain.
Yet, this understanding was joyous to pain.
What purpose was in being one?
If we tend alone then why should there be two?
But teachings of Lord were not done.
Her trip to her father had tugged on my heart
with memories of childhood days
how often my parents had suffered in mute
the ache of my weed flower ways.
The void was expansive (how long since we talked?)
‘tween I and my tender years’ care.
My shame was the wedging, the wall yet unscaled
for loving the love of that pair.
To give them their honour was motive in hand
for trembling the number of home.
I only thought once more of hanging back up
but held fast (too long since they’d known).
The ringing was stopped by the voice of my dad.
To silence prepared words were bid.
The brief phrase, “I’m sorry,” with unassumed tears
presented my meaning unhid.
The hour went quickly on memory’s lane.
Recaptured, the joys of ago.
My mother and father, in shifts on the phone,
had laid the weight of my guilt low.
When goodbyes were finished I gave my wife thanks,
her lessons had opened new doors.
And there in my garden I cried her to see,
“Blue flowers are grown just like yours!”
This new understanding induced thankful prayer.
The role of our two became clear:
we tend our own beddings and gain different blooms,
but both gain the difference He rears.
The intimate union between man and wife
was sharing the same in all things,
and deeper, joined gardens would cross pollinate
where mutual flowers could spring.
By love in relationships landscapes unite,
benefiting one another
to both take the good while rejecting the bad
as equals of one mind. As brothers.
Our confirmed philosophy realized the truth:
Seed Special is common to all.
To meet other gardens of diversity
would answer our need-to-grow call.
Experience grown from our past episodes
was caution. We proceeded slow
for unplanned expression of each new felt joy
had stumbled the way we would go.
Each day was adventure (what world called mundane).
Each new garden pleasured our own.
All people taught newness by saying and deed
of flowers we’d not before known.
The autumn leaves’ colour, the purr of a cat,
the sweater’s warmth on a cold morn;
the calm in affection, the gurgle of child,
of such is the Seed Special borne.
Admitting the Seed Special will see It sprout.
To choose love will see It bloom bright.
Not action, but rather good purpose of heart
ensures that new flowers have Light.
We praised to the Father for giving His grace,
His mercy let His Seed be sown,
and we mourned the gardens which blindly sought Light,
when Special Seed remained unknown.
For not just confession of Seed was enough
to prosper the colours so fair.
To know Him and choose Him and act in accord
experienced Gardener’s care.
We felt it was right that our knowledge be spread
though talents for spreading were slight.
We spread in our limits, with deeds and not words.
Our actions would guide to the Light:
Our quiet contentment in troubles (which passed)
had led other gardens to ask,
“Where comes your contentment?” To which we replied,
“In Light of Seed Special we bask.”
And some questioned further while some walked away.
We knew the whole world we’d not save.
Just husbandmen humble were we for our Lord.
When not wanted, we had not gave.
But inner reflection of garden or two
(though many our life travel found),
which led to their tending Seed Special to bloom
saw our garden flowers abound.
Yet, not just the gardens which came to the Light
had aided our garden’s expanse,
for those that rejected and scoffed were our gain.
Reward was from taking a chance