God the Gardener
Fair are the flowers that bloom
Fair they are no nose and eye
But as they cannot last forever
A time it comes when they must die
Not fair are the flowers that wither,
Not fair are they to nose and eye
Why is it they cannot last forever
Not fair is it that they must die
But if it were the case that they were to survive
Year start to end display their lovely bloom
Say, all plants were to stay alive
For all there would no be much room
Death, it is a cleansing process
A time it comes for everything to go
To permit things of a simpler, but yet no different beauty
To have their share of time in which to grow.
And in that time, during their time they display
The beauty that we are unable to see
In the sunshine of a summers day
A beauty to another beholder they may be.
We look for colour so we may please our eye,
We search for scent, so as to please our smell
In these the insect sees beauty too as he passes by,
But he sees the beauty in the grasses as well.
Not alone in the flower but in what it contains
Which will be of use to him as he is to the grass
And so the world regenerates as it rains
Because the little insect did not pass.
In this great process man is not needed
For us there are different roles
Our indifference to individuality goes unheeded
And unblemished remains our souls.
We do not have to kneel and worship
We do not have to grovel and to pray
We do have to live our lives as honest men
And in our dealings walk in His way.
Appointed are the ones who must worship
Answerable to the One are they
And so they must kneel and must grovel
In the Words that the One did say.
It is they, who stop among us men, the grasses
Who to the rest do not appear fair
Not by any one the Appointed passes
As he sees their inner beauty there.
Past he goes by the beings of beauty
Of them the Others will take care
He knows that them, they will not wither
Loved they will be as they are rare.
This it is our nature, it is the way we are,
God made us this way, it is the way we are made
Appear we beautiful, or not from near or far
Be we fine or rough in grade.
Blooms we are, and as such we bloom
But there comes a time when we must decay
And so God the Gardner comes to prune
But he only cuts certain parts away.
Some he takes so cruelly, as they are healthy
Life, we think, they should have had, is long
And some of the leaves both worn and withered
And sickly, and broken, and far from strong.
What we do not see is that in his wisdom the Gardner knows
Stalk of flower when it dies makes fine wood
Seeds of the weather worn blossom grows
A new plant fine and strong and good.
Fine flower plucked early by the Sage
Makes another jewel in the line
Beauty is not in age
For the world, they were too fine.
They displayed that they were the Lords creation
The Lord was pleased that this was so
Promoted them to be His decoration
As handsomely as his they did grow.
For all and everything there is a time
And in His way and time, He will call.
And those who made his creation Fine
Shall join him in his paradise hall.
Let us not doubt his judgement or why
Of what, or when, or how, we die
Ask not for everything to stay,
Trust instead in His way.
If we had everything forever
Tired we soon would be of it all
With variation occoring, never
Amonst the great would die the small.
Beauty may make things look fair
But often that may be all thats there
Ugly may look the old, but in their hour,
They were once a lovely flower:
Fair as any you see that blooms.
That, they were in their day
But now their beauty is their fruit
Their purpose now is not display.
Their fruit in all soils He will sow
In fertile soil and in desert sands
But in order for it to grow
It has to be tended by loving hands.
However, some of its seeds are not so fair
Just appear, and seem to stay where
They find a spot, thats laid bare
By hands that failed to care.
And should a delicate flower there already be
It may by this be choked and die
This is his Way, you see
It is not for us to question why.
And, so beautiful may be the flower
Ask not for it forever to last
Trust it is the will of the Power
And permit it to fade away into the past.
And if because of its passing you are sad
You should not about it never fear
Though the same bloom may not be had
An identical one will appear next year.
Fair indeed are the flowers that bloom
Fair in their own way are the ones that die
Nothing can last forever
And fair is the reason why.