Broken Row

Within the broken row
With field firm hands
You fashioned me from clay.
And placed the bless’ed seeds,
A flood of living rain within the fertile furrows
Of my harrowed heart.
Oh may I grow to light again through sod and season,
By measured sweat and toil.
Then grow to grain full harvest ripe,
Become sweet Bread like Thee.

by Loren Jarvis

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