Poetic Prose of Praise: My Father’s Garden


My Father is a Gardener and oh how my Garden he does keep.

He nestles himself—
Heart and Soul with my petals.
He reaches through my stem until he gets to the root.
The roots are the very essence of who I am.

I love how I’ve been planted in his garden.
There is no other garden where I would like to be.
Here in his chambers I am free to be me.
He is the key that unlocks the goodness in me.

He is Master Gardener.
He knows exactly how much water I need.

Saturate me.

He is Master Gardener.
He understands the perfect amount of attention and sunshine I need, complimented with the right amount of shade and coupled with a little extra room to breathe.

Satisfy me.

In my Father’s Garden are many rooms. He has a home carved and secure for me.
Grafted in to His Tree called All Things Lovely.

In His Arms I long to be.
In His Arms I love to be.

I am secure.
I am free.

I am a flower in my Father’s Garden.
He hand picked me.🌺