Being a mother.
Mother’s Garden
Image via Wikipedia
A fresh little bud in my garden,
With petals closely folded from view,
Brightly nods me a cheery “Good Morning”
Through the drops of a fresh bath of dew.
I must patiently wait its unfolding,
though I long its full beauty to see;
Leave soft breezes and warm, tender sunshine
To perform the sweet office for me.
I may shield my fair baby blossom,
With trellis its weakness uphold,
With nourishment wisely sustain it
And cherish its pure heart of gold.
Then in good time, which is God’s time,
Developed by sunshine and shower,
Some morning I’ll find in the garden
Where my bud was, a beautiful flower.
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