Speak to me.
A word that holds such hidden depths.
Take me on your hallowed ground,
untouched, and unturned
yet by heart or mind.
Show me your intents,
what you’re yet to unveil.
I wait here still, with bated breath,
to hear your name revealed.
Lead me on.
Winter I know is a season
through which we all must pilgrimage
I am told your name means ‘Spring’.
I wait for you to blossom.
Though the deserts an experience,
we all must endure,
Lent teaches us to delve for life
when there’s no evidence of it at all.
in truth is life.
And just as we come to our birth,
through a dark passage;
grown to fullness,
hidden from the world.
So Lent teaches us
to sow in tears, and then reap.
To wait in the wilderness,
until Easter springs at our feet.
“The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus…”
©Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
Ash Wednesday, 2017
Image Wildflowers in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, California, Flickr