The Gardener
A dame of years, with silver-rooted hands
she tends the earth with fingers frayed yet kind.
Upon the edge of winter’s breath, she stands
and casts her seeds, though fate may be unkind.
Upon the edge of winter’s breath, she stands
and casts her seeds, though fate may be unkind.
The feathered thieves in hungry riot fly.
They steal, they glut, they scatter all she sows,
Bright starlings bold against the ashen sky.
Yet soft she smiles, as if she ever knows.
Yet soft she smiles, as if she ever knows.
“For who am I to scold thee, wayward wren,
whose belly sings of hunger’s tune again?
Did not these hands, in seasons long before,
take bread unearned from mercy’s open door?”
whose belly sings of hunger’s tune again?
Did not these hands, in seasons long before,
take bread unearned from mercy’s open door?”
For mercy, like the seed, must first take root
and grow in hearts where grace may bear its fruit.
675 Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, Kentfield CA 94904 Phone: 415-464-3898 | Email: admissions@marincatholic.org
