Promised Garden

There is no promised garden

That doesn’t start out

With a patch of weeds

And some fertile soil


To get to the glory

One must pull out the stems

Dig out the ends

Get to the roots and chuck them out

Leaving the ground, trembling and bare


Then plant the seeds, the small shoots

Not yet the full beauty, but the tiniest specks

Tend to them and hope for the best


Let the sun warm them, the rain pour on them

The soil nourish them when there no is sight of them

Until all the care, all the hope, all the work

Is rewarded with ripeness and freshness

Then it is gone, and repeated for another year


So it is with any good work

The dross must be cleared

The soul must be laid bare

The seeds of practice must be sown

Hope and tender care must take place

And with patience and persistence

Beauty abounds

And the process repeats itself for the next task


The thing is it gets easier with experience

Not any less painful but with knowledge and wisdom

The roots come up quicker, the seeds properly sown

The tending more appropriate

And the fruits are more divine


©2015 Valerie Hathaway

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