Maybe a gift can slowly bud,

unknowing what the flower will be.

A green shell waiting for the warmth,

to bring it forth for all to see.

The warmth of love is all it takes

and faith to wait for what may come.

How seldom is this love or faith

given to those who need it most.

 

Yet flowers bloom so short a while

a burst of colour, then no more.

Still memories of a scarlet hue

may live for ever in the mind.

Then, a mind, at last set free

from wishing for some distant goal.

On turning inward finds the joy

that comes from doing something well.

 

So dream for what you hope will be.

Knowing that all the love we have

is yours to help you at a time

when waiting seems impossible.

 
 
David Garlick, Victoria, June, 1988