The Garden

Let Me

Let me turn my face to the blank sheet,
for You to paint on future’s complete
Once written as a living meadow, but erased,
this garden where war took place

Let me go forth to this pure color,
by red blood and water, close to our Father
A rose that speaks of risen beauty,
descents its ripple blossom for all to see

Let me run and spill over into song,
a melody of music dots to hold on
Oh, clothed wonder that hear and belong,
‘but don’t forget to ask, oh little one !’

Let me then stand and cloaked in the sheeted rain,
for washed tears that the scent of roses contain
Love’s voice in each drop to echo and remain,
while a picture of all things will grow green again !

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