THE BIRTHING

Windswept, barren and hardened ground,
Alone and unpromising until You bent down,
And You weeded me, You raked and pulled.,
And You placed in me one small bulb,
Tiny emblem of life within.

And then through a season's burnt-out ends,
And then beneath winter's harsh frozen sheets
You were waiting.
You were waiting for the Birthing,
For the bursting forth of the soft green shoots,
Strong and robust from the earth's warming womb,
First the green and then the full glory,
One resplendent dance!
While the Son shines down
Transendent.