Weeds

Into the basket we toss thistles and weeds
Tear out their vile interruptions
Lest they would choke out the little seeds
Denying them fruitful production

We take our disappointments and hurt
Though we may question their reason
We bear this fruit of temporal dirt
Born in the Garden of Eden

But lest they o’er take the good of this life
We lift them to Hands of pardon
And He will help us conquer this strife
Until we meet in His perfect garden


Janet~