The Gardener

I always look towards the sunrise

Past my hand and thru the clouds
*

Though the truth is no surprise

Your deep silence is its shrouds
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For your words are buried seeds

That someday shall bear its fruits
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From its blossom lie your deeds

For it reeks from its very roots
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I shall cut the evil from its stem

And mince my heart to be its dirt
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I shall spray my tears to its hem

And press my lips where it hurt
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My blood shall purify your petals

My soul shall ease your emotion
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My will is stronger than mere metals

For my love will plow beyond devotion

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