Garden Encounter

We thought he was just the gardener
Breaking up soil of the desert places
Hoping it would yield a hundred-fold;
Chasing away foxes that dig their holes,
Enjoying two sparrows sold for a farthing,
Waiting for rain of the unjust and just,
Careful with weeds that some call tares,
Gently pruning worn out vines,
Tenderly tending the youngest rose.
Until every corner explodes with spring,
Welcoming those who come on a quest,
Seeking the divine in a lifeless rock,
But finding him present among Easter lilies,
Until he disappears - leaving us to it.

April 2015