The Garden

O Garden, place of grace.
You fill me with mystery.
I dig my fingers into your soil
Long hours in hot sun I toil.

O Garden, please where God dwells and talks.
You let me feel her divine presence.
I plant the seeds of awareness.
In this place of harmony and attentiveness.

O Garden, place to slow me down.
You cannot be hurried.
I must obey the need of each little plant
Creating ways to keep it alive,
Never saying, I can't.

O Garden, daily I enter your temple.
You feed me from your bounty.
I sit, I watch, I weed, I wait.
The harvest may come early
Or it may be late.

by Sister Mary Elizabeth Henaughan, H.M.

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