The Marriage Garden
Dressed in white and lace,
In polished shoes and straightened ties,
We bent low to pour our sand to a vase,
To plant seeds of love and faith.
Young and unaware of the death to follow,
The shattering of seed hulls yet to come,
We didn’t know the years of sorrow
That comes from planting seeds of love together.
In the death and rot we often wondered
What beauty or goodness could ever grow.
Instead we clung to past words so blundered,
From our grief and sins not yet forgotten.
Now that death has come,
Maybe now those sprigs of leaves can sprout.
With weathered hands and calloused thumbs,
We’ll harvest what death has sprung.
Between thorns and thistles something new has grown,
What young love planted, worn faithfulness has plucked.
What reckless, green hearts had sown,
Wearied and wising hands have gathered.
The death that I once scorned,
Bore bright daffodils and lilies,
Memories of the suffering from which they were born,
A reminder of all we’ve endured.
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