Poem on 3rd Sunday after Pentecost Mark 4:26-34

Late into the night we talked of God

Or not

Veering uncomfortably

From disagreement

--to conflict

until by morning

blurry eyed and defeated

we both went

--about our work

each coiled against the onslaught

of what had been

purging ourselves

religiously

of any word

--or thought

that may have found entrance

into our well defined courtyard

of self indulgence

not knowing

--that one small seed

not recognized

----or claimed

by either party

lay dormant

waiting for the rains of change

to bring to life

--the life

----that grew there

unnoticed

until

I awoke one day

To a garden of beauty

For which

I could claim no hand

And I wept

At the joy

That was mine