On Beauty

On we go into the dark winding park
Until finding there a flower strange in
Color and delight, aroma wide and
Deep that tells a story inviting me
Into its great dance that went on before
I was, and will dance after I will be.

Strange to see how this fair bloom speaks wonders
Without a word, nor does she defend her
Sacred space—yea, instead bids welcome to
Me, that I might come, accepting I might
Trample petals, stem and all with footsteps
Come to conquer, not to tarry in awe.

Lord, how is it that your very best comes
With neither thorn nor wall nor flaming sword
But in a gift so delicate that I
Could either crush it with my calloused palms
Or trembling hold it close to my heart’s pain
And find I too am held and riches gain?

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