Hand me no vessels of tin
to quench a thirst of Gold…
not the desire to attain it
but Autumnal colors old,
bear no false cups of Kings
that mankind seeks to know,
lie me down in fields fallow of
sublimity, fertile, to see them grow,
volcanic ground once hardened
but now richly endowed to plant…
this is the gain I seek, the gold
of hard Earth that said,”I can’t,”
when reds and golds yield to
age… they too become the earth,
it is in the newness of life cycles
we’ve laid down in gentle mirth,
age me like finest wine… or like
a stringed instrument I’ll be…
it took the coldest of life’s winters for
the wood of a stradivarius we see.
If it takes the furnace of understanding what God is telling me to sink in… stoke the fire and allow me to come forth like pure gold. This is my heart felt prayer! Seasons come and go… cold to warm, warm to hot… and back through the days of our lives.
Image is from here.