THOSE  WEEDS

 

 

These weeds always near

Somehow sprout up

Never planted, but always there;

Diligence reaches out

Perseverance pulls them out by the roots

Endurance tosses them into a trash pile

New strength burns them with “Holy Fire”;

Weeds as dark, pesky spirit flies

Or demonic gnats that seek to ruin

Spoil at any picnic,

Like deer flies that annoy at the lake!

The garden is finally cleansed

Daily the garden is watched over

Guarded carefully

Alert eyes and quickened hands,

Nothing impure is sprinkled or sprayed,

And the garden is kept truly clean.

Only what belongs is left

What does not belong is tossed out

And remains far outside,

Gone from what the heart of the true gardener

Fully embraces.

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