At Times

Here. Take this makeshift poem.
Copy the lines on a sheet of paper
then cut them into tiny strips.
Find a shovel and dig a hole.
Bury the ribbons of words.
Water that spot for seven days.
Watch. Nothing will flower there.
 
This will teach you something about love.
 
How it begins with words that at times
cut and get jumbled and buried away.
How at times it appears unblooming.
How at times it feels foolish, like watering
paper in the backyard before dark.
Love is the essence of things hoped for.
The tending is evidence you believe.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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5 Comments

  1. Michele Morin on July 27, 2015 at 12:38 pm

    “Tending”
    What a great word for all the big and small things we do that feel futile, but that come from a heart of love.
    Thanks be to God that as we are tending, we are also being tended.

  2. legomai1 on July 27, 2015 at 12:39 pm

    lovely..

  3. Annie B on July 27, 2015 at 2:03 pm

    Yes.

  4. Bare Branches on July 28, 2015 at 3:58 am

    You’re on a roll Mr. Blase

  5. jodyo70 on July 31, 2015 at 3:53 am

    “the tending is evidence you believe.”

    True that.

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