A Flower In The Wind

A flower trembles in frosty wind,

not searching for its place in this life

or its moment in time

or a time to say, “I’m home,”

as a semblance of not harboring strife.


Without desperate desire

for an echo of loneliness to budge

the emerging blind tear

as it crawls over crosses to bear

in days sinking too deep to judge.


Without feeling of joy or anticipation

or a flail of sadness

waiting for the time of day or night

when God whispers Her lullaby,

singing to sleep the madness.


Oh, what a gift to be a flower,

to be still in the trembling wind.

A gift to be received

in the serenity of a heart

belying an intention to sin.


2 thoughts on “A Flower In The Wind

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