What lies beneath, not what is seen
Conceives the branch's fruits
Beneath the snow the grass is green
The tree thrives from its roots
What lies beneath and not the skin
Defines, designs the whole
For who we are begins within
Where thought and God control
What lies beneath, the bud employs
Its bloom of vernal wreath
Is but the aftermath of joys
In travail borne beneath
What lies beneath may seem quite veiled
But Time its truth imparts
The fruit we bear is but the yield
Of gardens in the heart
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!