The Jane magnolia remains silent at the birth of April’s Spring
Her violet blooms resting beneath garments of fuzzy gray pods
Waiting, tempted to peek into the sunshine, then waiting some more
For emerging too soon would be to her peril and loss of beauty, my dear.
Oh if I but could rest not by angst but by design like my friend
Knowing the Divine timing and trusting therein better than I have
That loveliness would come in the fullness of my time as well
Instead of deadness, jagged edges of pain, the tazoring of my mind.
Will there come a day when I shall join you in the sunshine of morn’?
When I unfold to freedom of spirit, of movement as in song so sweet?
Where there is little thought to my comings and goings: I will just go
Just live and give and do and think, knowing all is right with the world?
I do not think it is right that I should suffer so day in then day out
With hope only of heaven when my hopes are dashed 10,000 times and more
The seeking compels me for hours: pouring over records, research, and facts
Only to be smashed against the wall of my limits, my fate, the unanswered prayer.
What will my own senescence bring?
There is no patience left in me to endure.
No resolve carries me through.
Tears from deep caverns gush forth . . .
But breathe I shall for time shall march forth into the Spring of each new day
Life will go on as our Lord promises His love will go with us along the way
Perhaps one day I shall “bloom where I am planted” as the ol’ poster exhorts
Ever loud, ever quiet, ever true for having stepped out in faith ever simply,
and even ever small.