The garden is in ruins.
Winter’s burden,
Icy curtain draped on frail limbs,
Fragile twigs like human hearts,
That snapped
Too weak to bear the load.
Sin’s dark weight.
Nurtured dreams
Wreckage upon the brow of earth,
Hopes strewn carelessly.
Brokenness scattered on the ground.
In such a garden the Father once walked.
Clear the fallen boughs,
Pile high monuments to winter’s vain fury.
For spring promises one bright flower.