Marketplace Christian
Flowers planted carefully in a brass garden,
The blossoms could soften the heart of the hardened.
The colors soothed us and gave us great joy.
But then our lives got busy and they were forgotten as toys.
They were left unattended, flowers in a brass garden.
We took a moment to allow life to catch up,
as we sat in the yard as our tea grew cold in our cups.
The blossoms were no more, but what stood in its space,
was a message from God that put us in our place.
We allowed time to pass and the world caught up.
Where the flowers were, seeds had planted their roots.
Weeds had taken over, more than shoots.
They took over the sod and drained all the life.
No more fighting for space, no more strife.
The garden of brass had no more room for flowery roots.
If we had only weeded the problem at the first breaking of
ground.
We could have saved our blossoms and all the others we've found.
The flowers were there still, wilted and brown.
The blossoms were just a memory, nowhere to be found.
The joy was gone and the birds made no sound.
I silently prayed, "let not my heart be hardened",
The answer was clear, we received our pardon.
Let's pull the weeds together, all the way to the roots.
Removing all signs of even the shoots.
once again we'll have joy and flowers in our brass garden.
by
Wayne Brooks
2/18/99
Flowers planted carefully in a brass garden,
The blossoms could soften the heart of the hardened.
The colors soothed us and gave us great joy.
But then our lives got busy and they were forgotten as toys.
They were left unattended, flowers in a brass garden.
We took a moment to allow life to catch up,
as we sat in the yard as our tea grew cold in our cups.
The blossoms were no more, but what stood in its space,
was a message from God that put us in our place.
We allowed time to pass and the world caught up.
Where the flowers were, seeds had planted their roots.
Weeds had taken over, more than shoots.
They took over the sod and drained all the life.
No more fighting for space, no more strife.
The garden of brass had no more room for flowery roots.
If we had only weeded the problem at the first breaking of
ground.
We could have saved our blossoms and all the others we've found.
The flowers were there still, wilted and brown.
The blossoms were just a memory, nowhere to be found.
The joy was gone and the birds made no sound.
I silently prayed, "let not my heart be hardened",
The answer was clear, we received our pardon.
Let's pull the weeds together, all the way to the roots.
Removing all signs of even the shoots.
once again we'll have joy and flowers in our brass garden.
by
Wayne Brooks
2/18/99
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