HIS House’s In this Garden Called Me, Myself and I

In this garden called me, myself and I

No wonder the cavalry stands down

That water wanders away from sight

Clouds block sun from reaching down

Or better yet the fruit from reaching up

In this garden of soil so pure

Traces of seeds uninvited

Weeds that just go to root

Pulled upon or ignored they grow

A weed’s strength crowds and shadows

The light for fruit bearing, sustaining

So why allow weeds to feed among fruit?

Wind is never still except in battle

Where even breath takes a holiday

Where the mind can alter reality

Like a dream the action is surreal

The eyes of the enemy watch for retreat

Generals’ sterile views bellow in bedlam

Yet order prevails, lines in the sand stand

The garden asks for a cool drink

As a gentle rain begins in earnest

Quietly nature continues its work

On the battle field, as dawn breaks

Fresh smells as morning awakes

Deer run and panthers pace the night

As balance is weighed out again

Mystery, misery and triumph live

In this garden, we still walk with God

HIS House

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