by Kyle Lehman
Why would I worry that her heart lies still,
While mine is burning full of eager love?
For April never doubts a daffodil
Can feel, and find its way to warmth above.
And I can’t ask a chrysalis to split
Its shell: her beauty is for those who wait.
No butterfly would ever benefit
If hurried hands took down her garden gate.
Bread, cast on silent waters, is not gone.
And love, as wine upon this precious one,
Is mine to freely give. Thus has God’s Son
Poured out Himself until His own are won.
Let golden strands of grace be slowly spun.
Let Eucharist precede the King’s pavane.
Kyle Lehman is a teacher and poet who loves to watch things grow, like seeds, strange ideas, hay bales, and the moon.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy