Easter Breaths

By His breath
The winter blanket removed
and from the lifeless brown I
struggled forth and
burst.
One in a sea of 10,000 daffodils


Six petals pure white
silken snow borne from snow
a pair of white Trinity
clasping a golden trumpet
fringed in scarlet.
My vanity

Gentle Gardener,
my vanity sings but of Your glory
Please, my Gardener, be pleased

His breath so soft.
I lift my trumpet
to Him
nodding
You exist, my Gardener, You exist

He breathes again
gently.
I and the sea of 10,000
nodding
in syncopated rhythm
You exist, our Gardener, You exist

Your hope is ours
that mournful man may
stop and gaze and listen.
And nod.
Our vanity is but for Him
He exists, our Gardener, He exists

By May’s approach, we
mirror yet inversely our Gardener’s son.
In 3 day’s time
our silken snow will melt
brown.
Trumpets silent.
Chaff

A gentle Breath

And we 10,000 relinquish the song
to daylilies and daisies
who will sing and sing their vanity
and sing our melody
the song of the Gardener’s glory.
While we 10,000 sleep.
Content



Dave, from Boston


This poem first appeared on A Gloss with Spiritual Meaning, and was written by a reader. Thank you Dave.