A Fantasy of Unique-ness in God's Rich Tapestry of Spiritual Individuality!
What blossom bloomed 'er ever dreamed,
in fragrance sweet there wafts a song;
Nor Nature never named so pert a flower
as ever decked the hillside's bower -
as Beauty is (and Lovely does!),
the rocks are all the poorer;
for lack of blooms the Sonshine grows,
and perfumes only "Zephyr" knows.
But Silence is the Song of songs,
so humble are her anthems;
The wilderness and dessert blooms
'a-riot', ("QUIET!") sings!
And with the bud and petal looms
a stanza hushed and blushed
that sings the dessert choir again.
But wander yonder, Lonely grows;
and hide beside, beneath, beyond -
and hum the hymns that Lonely knows,
and single stems, their only glory shows;
were strewn with care where Sorrow goes.
But why the anguished Solitaire?
None's alone where Love's the Lord!
God is Leisured in His beauties,
One by one He takes their measure -
Almighty Hears, and Snifs, (Lv 26:31) and Gazes gently,
Nods His Treasured Pleasure, - NOTE!: - His alone is His!
A "wild" flower? No, not quite!
No blossom (God's) is ever trite!
Though many's the bloom in garden's grandeur,
The Father's hand's have groomed the stand sure!
As surer still, no sooner pruned,
than fragrant fruit of Husbandman
gives warrant still that all was known
by Him whose Hand the Seed was Sown!
Twas His Whose Choice 'bechanced' a planting,
buds that bloomed askance the path -
That those who sojourn hither there,
be ever minded of His care!
God calls the special to be "onlies";
"Speckled-Garlands" of His Presence.
Those of us who see this Wonder, wonder still
as God is more than God, you see,
to those of God's whom He has Graced with
"Sole Beatitude of Unity".
To stand alone, with God alone, to stand;
is Grace as Beauty's Perfume's Song.
A fragile, single stem is plundered by the dew,
and gale may twist that stem, and twist it, seems in two;
But Grown with Tender, Loving Hand,
God's "single-beauty's" stand is strong!
The stem, you see's, a humble thing -
It's function just to "branch-it";
And even when the Season's Spring,
it's roots who brave, "let's chance it!".
The face of such a flower you'd think
t'would braver still, a grimace bear;
But nay, not so - it seems the deeper droughts she suffers drink,
the kinder, sweeter face she'll wear!
The answer lies not in her plight, nor struggle to survive,
but in the object of her gleam!
She seeks the Son Who's Light her treasured vows revive,
her object sure, she never doubts - He's every flower's dream!
Now passing such a spectacle as this, and wishing to remember;
I chanced upon some tiny plant determined in it posture
to Sing the Master's Song of Fragrant Solitaire.
What creatures are these sentinels that populate our present?
They carry on as though there were no higher calling;
than simply sweeten pathways long forgotten,
by such hurried, harried, hobbled, bunglers......... as we!
And who are they?
God knows, and does remember (His Glories go "unknown");
Who knows, but rocks may know; and listen,... hear,... and say -
"This beauty's Given (gone unseen) by God, along the way,
so strangers may be welcomed, and guided by the fragrance Home!"
For "fragrance is His Presence, near - and tiny glories know,
that fragrance follows Sonshine Home.
Our Home is Where the Song of Light is Singing sweetly still!
So blossoms of the Highway-byway grow,
that "strangers", "followers" too might know! THE WAY HOME!
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