Seedling
- Apr 25
- 1 min read
In the sunlit corridors of His childhood,
did He hear His mother’s weeping?
Did He drift off to creaks,
dust coating His feet,
in the early hours of His sleeping?
Did the sun's rays,
which cast upon His face,
transluce in God His feeling;
or did the olive tree harvest
pressed into oils harness
the gift of His oppression and fearing?
With trees bowing down,
thorns witnessing His crown
and Nazarene children jeering,
did He seek out a solitude,
no Earth or Sky could protrude,
to hone the Grace of God kneeling?
Or did Joseph’s jest,
and calm caress,
carve out a sanctuary from this needing;
and did the scent of saplings,
who harkened His babblings,
infuse the Love of God, a seedling?
