Pilgrim Path

This blog is the work of a seeker and poet. Walking stick in hand, I head out into the world, not of the world, but in the world. My words and my friends carry me along and light the pilgrim path of spiritual journeys.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

JUNE, 2003

Soft white pincurls framed her sweet face,
where a smile broke through like a sunrise;
a smile like the thousands she'd generously blessed
on a full lifetime of family and friends.

In an instant, she spoke her name, Pat;
seemed more like a Violet or Camellia to me,
but in a deeper way, its briefness fit,
no pretense or filler, just cut to the core.

We spoke of prayer and favorite things.
Soon Pat shared the story of a workman,
arriving all gruff and about his business,
she thought, until he entered her garden.

Beauty is not content to stay a stranger,
and so she introduced her companions.
The workman stooped over and spoke to a Rose,
"How can one look at a flower and not believe in God?"

Pat wasn't present as she finished her story,
she'd returned to that precious memory
when truth paid a visit in overalls and joined beauty
in a turn on her garden dance floor.

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