A flower that blooms in the spring, and
produces through a season if warmed by the sun,
watered by the heavens if nurtured will bring
beauty for the times when the trials of life
weigh me down so my soul can’t sing,
and for the bee for which it must have
that succulent nectar to live and thrive
will grow weary too, lie listless, weak and die.
So, it is like that in life,
and like the flower and the bee
when our days we cannot number,
each and every one known to God
we have no guarantee. But still, I often wonder
over the day when I too shall slumber,
but until that time, I’ll give all I have
to Him who guards my quaking steps,
and steadies me when I fall,
for I know that in all I do
it is with Him that I do all.
_________________
Joyce E. Johnson © 2017
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