I Am Just a Flower

Father I am

forlorn

comparing myself

to other roses

I only see my

thorns

and the trampling of

careless feet

dulling my petals

and making me weak

I myself not taking time

to eat

water from the healthy soil of

your goodness

The lover drunk in thought

garnishes the patch

I watch in wonder if I am worth

half

as lovely as the crisp hughes

I wish I'd have time to repair and prove

that my beaten petals were made by the same hands too.

I have made mistakes

on my intakes

I was long abused and misused

today I am still confused

I have given some care to caterpillars and

the vicious hare

they tore my petals and I feel

each tear

I try to stay strong,

not comparing myself to

those

pretty for so long

not

dulled by the sun

tainted by corrupted ones

In me

maybe the eye of the gentle will see

something trampled and restored

can reflect great beauty

For see, I am no more wilted, neither fallen or dead…

In me a maker has woven His thread-

I am His instead.

He kept me alive, He pruned me free.

Here I am,

impeccably me

Psalm 115

1 Not to us, Lord, not to us
    but to your name be the glory,
    because of your love and faithfulness.