Weeds Among Withering Grass
In this dry summer heat
Like fallen autumn leaves
The grass crunches under our feet.
Though the flowerbeds wither,
And the water trickles into our wells,
The weeds push through acre upon acre.
Their green stems stand tall and strong,
Stretching toward the burning sun,
They thrive though the summer heat is long.
They cry, “Cursed! Cursed is this ground,
Because man could not deny the serpent’s taunt.”
Yet bright white wildflowers are all in bloom,
A beauty that still somehow thrives.
A reminder to the one grieving by the tomb:
Though sin’s curse reins within and out,
Christ has broken its bind on you.
In the time in between we keep our eyes about
To watch for the autumn rain yet to fall,
The redemption to come and relieve every groan.
When the grass will glow like gold,
And sin’s curse will never again cause us to moan.
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