Weald Song
In summer’s hall, a sweetened air
here permeates my garden walk;
in ancient words of vibrant prayers —
by hand of God, the flowers talk
of Eden and of Genesis . . .
such flows the realm of nature’s bliss.
From roots to blooms, a thriving course,
reflections of my own being —
the drive to grow from spirit’s source,
a knowing human eyes aren’t seeing . . .
an onward walk in time and place
encompassed by our Savior’s grace.
Lucia Haase
