Flowering

Below the bare fields of last winter,
Beneath the dead brambles and brake,
A seed from last summer is sleeping,
Waiting for warmth to awake.

Gently she sleeps in the tillage
Soaking in early Spring's rains,
The hard shell around her is softening,
Her kernel is splitting in twain.

Down the cold wells in the darkness,
A tiny, white rooting has sunk.
Up toward a warming, dry lightness,
A green shoot will grow to a trunk.

Rise up, little stalk, to the surface.
Awake, sleeping seed, from the dead.
I'll fill the blue welkin with sunshine
To raise up a flower from your bed.

Bloom in full face of the Summer,
Tickled by bees' tiny feet,
Fill the warm air with your fragrance,
Feed them with nectar, so sweet.

Dance in the winds of awakening,
Shake anther on stamen's long staff,
Capture the raining of pollen,
Smile and spin while you laugh.

Your fruiting will feed the five thousand,
Who bless you beneath Heaven's gaze,
And look on, amazed by this Power
Who from death your beauty has raised.

Be happy, you precious, pale flower,
And wait for His touch as you rest.
Be beautiful, for you are beauty,
And beauty by blessing is blessed.