It's April snow on daffodils.
Yellow stains on the white sky.
Drops from God to salve the
feral pain.

I wait for tulips who are encased
in green buds.  A lot of
energy in the making of a flower.
It reminds me of a prayer.

I think my Azalea has gone for
soldiers, and the lilacs wait
for me to heal.  The faces in this
garden look to you.

I am all alone with my prayers,
this station is one before the
Crucifixion. My Garden waits
for our reconciliation as
snow floats on in time past
and time future.

Now is not our cup
of Salvation.  

Forgiveness is not
our business.



Caroline Shank