A story left and told, it seems,
the season has a hold of me.
God’s plan strikes me, so odd,
and how could He? Why would He
let such a gentle soul
suffer as He’s done?
Remembrance of the Guilty Flowers.
The beauty of nature’s need
to grow to seed
and bloom brand new.
Fear is on the surface
of worry and wasted time.
The pointed finger of guilt and shame,
remind you,
you are not to blame.
Convenience Kills the need
to know the truth.
Hope is; wishing,
waiting,
anticipating,
crossing your fingers,
a feeling that lingers.
When let down,
She’s Commiserating.
A spark inside-
telling you,
“I’m along for the ride.”
And when you least expect
she’ll nudge her head through fear,
making faith quite clear
in the midst of the insincere.