It may not be in the deepest soil
Where light and water abound
Yet each tiny seed will strive and toil
To grow in their given ground
Some seeds are sown by loving hands
All buried quite snug and sound
While others fall in rock strewn lands
To claim as their given ground
We hear no cries of pain or delight
As each seed’s place is found
For each one feels their spot is right
To thrive in their given ground
Express your life with joy and might
And may your efforts be crowned
Whether your soil be deep or slight
Grow well in your given ground
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What spot of ground were you given in this life? Was it deep nourishing soil, with lots of love from a gardener? Or do you feel you were tossed into scant rocky soil and somehow expected to thrive there? This poem expands on that idea, and is a personal poem for my wife and me.
It stems from a scriptural story about olive trees and a Lord of the Vineyard who transplants different shoots and branches into various spots of the vineyard. Some are planted in good spots, and others in poor spots, but the Lord of the Vineyard has a plan.
