I dug a plant up with a spade,
I made a hole, I marked a grave.
The plant though whole is now forlorn.
It’s lost it’s place beneath the sun!
When planted deep – I saw its leaf.
A perfect form all green and bright.
I dug it up, and saw it’s source
Its roots where white yet bathed in dirt.
I sensed perfection of design.
I stood amazed – all parts complete!
I then had insight from Spirit’s brush,
the plant though whole was on death row!
We all have context, mark our space.
We sense our individual parts intact.
Yet still we wander dying dry,
not grasping that, my roots need place.
When I depend on life that flows,
from sources deep yet veiled, unseen,
I draw my life up deep within
then bless with fruit, as I laugh and grin.
Author – Bill Tidsbury