by Debra Wendt

New seed
planted in Eden
watered by the river of baptism,
nourished with the Word; 
we pray – 
may the root be strong enough.
Outside the gate, a patchwork of color.
Grass neglected 
yields weeds as high as wheat,
and we want to shout bring a sickle.
The expanse is not a threshing floor
nor we owners of the winnowing fork.
Upon a closer look, a blade of green
and another
braving despair,
the pulsating dread.
Is there movement toward?
We pray again – let lips shape words
and though there be no sound
a breath of light will answer.

Debra Wendt was born in and educated in Wisconsin. As a teacher, she wrote educational articles and textbooks. Her poems have appeared in Agape ReviewTorrid Literature Journal and The Storyteller

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