When

the harvest-remains
are tilled under
and I find myself wondering,
when did the summer night-noises hush their conversation?
The soil feels barren in my fingers
the warmth of life isn't there anymore
and the chill in my lungs
rests there in my palm, too
yet the moonlit furrows stretch far
beyond my view
and I know this time of waiting
dying
clearing
is beautiful too.
The stars above, masked by transparent cloud
they are the same
and so is the Sower, the Potter.
There is weeping in my heart
when the Master plows deep
when He clears the fields
but as I sit here, hands and knees feel the earth
and I know springtime, harvest and daylight
will come
in His good time.


Sow for yourselves righteousness; Reap in mercy; Break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek the LORD, till He comes and rains righteousness on you. -Hosea 10:12

He who continually goes forth weeping, bearing seed for sowing, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.
-Psalm 126:6

Comments

Melany said…
There are two words that come into my mind as I read this: They are hard, and hopeful.

That first verse is an unfamiliar one to me, but I love it. This is a beautiful meditation on it. And oh, Lizzi, how I pray that the seeds that lie dormant will spring to life....!
November 14, 2011 at 7:26 PM
Heidi said…
I wrote about this night too but it is not nearly as beautiful as this. He is good, isn't He?
November 15, 2011 at 6:50 AM
Lizzi said…
Ha Heidi yours most definitely is!! I read yours too & it's kind of funny eh that we do something like that and then we both write poetry about it... lol!
November 15, 2011 at 4:47 PM
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