Poetry

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Into my garden one day I went,
Many hours there I spent.
Expelling unsightly weeds,
Attending to the most urgent needs.

The task was tedious and tiresome,
The heat fierce from the sun.
Warm tears slid to the tip of my nose,
And fell upon, a neglected rose.

Regal and majestic, it stood alone there,
In my hast, I had ignored it's care.
For neglect of the rose, I was to blame, Therefore, I bowed my head in shame

Too busy with other things to heed,
It's call most precious indeed.
That of a Rose so unique and rare, I had overlooked it's Presence there.

I thought I was good, doing things right,
At least, it seemed so in my sight.
But I'm guilty of neglect---God only knows,
For I had overlooked His exquisite Rose.

Jesus, the Father's Rose of Sharon,
Who is the fairest of ten thousand.
Bore the cross, wore a crown of thorns,
Shed His blood and I was born.

We're beseiged with life's many details, Hindered, we stumble and often fail
To trust and cease our fretting,
To seek wisdom in all our getting.

And so in my Garden, the Rose stood alone,
From incorruptible seed it had grown.
Ever softening the soil of my heart,
Shaping my soul into a work of art.

I vow that with You, I'll forever stand,
Held by Your nail-scarred hand.
For it was long ago that I chose,
You Lord, my Savior, my Rose.

I vow never again to leave Your side,
But to remain and in You abide.
For no longer in my garden grows,
Thorn and thistle but a Precious Rose.

© Shirley Wiliams 11-22-90

Plain As Day Ministries

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