The garden is not soil alone—
It is the heart I’ve always known.
Each thirsty leaf, each fragile flower,
Counts fading hopes hour by hour.
The fiery sun wears sorrow’s face,
A ruthless trial, a burning place.
It steals the green from hope’s embrace,
Yet roots still whisper, “Hold your grace.”
The weeds are fears that creep unseen,
The flies are doubts that drift between.
They feast where tender dreams withdrew,
Until the sky forgets its blue.
I lift my eyes and softly cry,
“Beloved clouds, don’t wander by.
We’ve borne the weight, endured the heat—
Let mercy fall serene and sweet.”
The heavens gather, grey and deep,
As though awoken from their sleep.
One crystal tear falls from above—
The first soft promise born of love.
That single drop becomes a song,
Assuring hearts they still belong.
For hope, though small, holds quiet power
To rise again in every flower.
One side is bound by human law,
Where water’s gift is held in awe.
The other burns in endless flame,
Yet every soul still calls your name.
Come, rain—not only from the sky,
But where forgotten spirits lie.
Wash every wound the world has made;
Revive the dreams that once had fade.
For every garden hides a soul
Still reaching for a life made whole.
And every storm we ache to see
Is love becoming destiny.
So let your silver blessings fall
On every heart, on one and all.
For we are gardens, every one—
Still waiting…
until the rain and light are one.
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