Though she was the Proverbs thirty-first
I loved,
I loved her more for how she spoke with God;
She brought the chapel back into the home,
And taught the walls to kneel where feet once trod.
Her nature bore the likeness of a flower
Her mother named her so; I named her mine.
Her petals made a dwelling of my hours,
Her fragrance taught my memory its time.
Her beauty held Eve’s image, born anew,
Scripture upon her breath, not on display;
Creation paused, as though the Maker knew
Perfection need not shout to have its say.
She moved as rain that blesses without sound,
As soil that keeps the secrets seeds must know;
In her, all wandering seasons gathered ground,
And learned the art of staying where they grow.
She did not ask the world to call her fair
The earth itself confessed her as its own.
~PJNK
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 11:29 AM UTC
Though she was the Proverbs thirty-first
I loved,
I loved her more for how she spoke with God;
She brought the chapel back into the home,
And taught the walls to kneel where feet once trod.
Her nature bore the likeness of a flower
Her mother named her so; I named her mine.
Her petals made a dwelling of my hours,
Her fragrance taught my memory its time.
Her beauty held Eve’s image, born anew,
Scripture upon her breath, not on display;
Creation paused, as though the Maker knew
Perfection need not shout to have its say.
She moved as rain that blesses without sound,
As soil that keeps the secrets seeds must know;
In her, all wandering seasons gathered ground,
And learned the art of staying where they grow.
She did not ask the world to call her fair
The earth itself confessed her as its own.
~PJNK