Garden of the Lord

Sweet Mother, come to me.
Visit my ground.
See my wild, unruly state.
Take pity,
Take time,
Take me.
In your holy vision,
Contemplate the Face of your Son,
Recreate His countenance in Me.
Clear me.
Clean me.
Cultivate me.
Come again, and again, and again,
Work the miracle of grace upon grace.
With hand,
With hoe,
Sun and rain.
Make of me a garden.
Prepare it by your prayer, and presence.
For His good pleasure.
Plant seeds.
Envision beauty.
Raise roses.
Then, on this plain of your true humility,
Raise me for His pure delight,
Here to welcome heaven,
To sing, to play, to dance.

By Joann Nelander

Anchor

Hope, an anchor tossed,
Plummeting to fathomless deep,
Careless of the cost.
Hope, an anchor tossed,
Implacable, while storms accost.
Faith, the ground, the keep.
Hope an anchor tossed,
Plummeting to fathomless deep

Copyright Joann Nelander

(experimental triolet)