All Things That Grew of Themselves
All things that grew of themselves
All around me---would---
If I had eyes to see---ears to hear---
Take on another form---another meaning---
That could tell of the growing things
inside me
Which were their parallel---
The crimson flower that hides behind the stone---
There at my feet:
I was afraid of the things I was called to
do---
The stigma of it---the offence---
Yet the fragile speedwell that grew near---
Through---the hardest soil---
There at the edge of the flagged path---
Wandering through the lavender
walk
Round the sundial:
I was touched of sky---
Given its part---made of its colour by
faith---
Being drawn forth
In the power of the love
of the son
Even through the pages of rock
And the darkness that presses upon my head---
Set meandering---
Amidst the near-lost fragrance of the journey of my
spirit
Wrapped in time’s circuit through the
heavens
Telling that time no man wishes to know---
Lest he lose all he has
For all he has ever desired and never known
And---in spirit---it went on and on---
The gift of knowing by seeing and believing:
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