Tilled

Dug up.

Tilled.

Hard words are augers

Where they’re spilled.

Does your hand hold the plow?

Sow bitter seeds that fall?

Planted with tears, will you bring

a harvest after all?

You see the harrowing.

You hear when I call.

No need to explain.

You understand it all.

Sprout me green

From this soil of blame.

Keep me from payback

And withering complaint.

Rain words of healing

As I wait for spring.

To blossom in you

Is the hope you bring.

Let me thrive where I’m dry.

Make me cling to faith.

Yield flowering praise.

Show me your way.