Knots, knobs, molting bark
A metaphor for back
Twisted branches, structure sways
Vertebrae, an awkward promenade
The roots deep, dusty, endure
hardships, trials, heat
How lovely is the sycamore bark?
Watch it shed and watch it peel
To reveal brown, green, gold, Beauty
It grows to be one of the most grand
By your hand it is watered, it works. It takes our breath and returns it as life
Father is that not what you do? You take our stench, and make miraculous myrtle
Our sweat, into pressed wine. Our wrinkles into smiles.
No matter how much we bathe, pungent aromas waft and rise from us.
Thank you for making us white in your sight. Inclusive of the full range of color.
You are the source of visible light, through your prism we shine.
Sapphires, garnerts, opal bright.
No darkness found only glorious light.
The wind rises surrounds me, reminds of the power of the unseen.
As the true Gardner please plant us in sun. Where water is flowing and fields dance.
Be the the fence post that supports us Lord, help us to rise to the harvest.
To bear fruit in time. Help me to not whine when pruned. But accept the process. And yield the wine.
Tie me to you till that day. Rope me to rods, staple me to sticks. As I bask in your light.
Praise you father that the barbed wire isn’t my cup. That only the true vine wrapped it, that last supper.
Christ, was nailed hands and feet to a tree for all to see. His bled dripped fell, onto the dirt.
The same dirt that was used when mankind was formed. That feeds us.
The father breathed life, the son breathed his last. Like the sycamore tree you turn, our breath to life again.
Remind me daily, as the sun rises. that you supply needs for the weary, and sap for tree.