30th October 2021

There grows between my pavers
No peppermint nor thyme
Nor sage, nor dill, nor parsley
Things of the useful kind
But wretched weeds and clover
And stubborn dandelion
That when I pull and bind them -
A posy! Devil kind!

What grows between my paver-years?
I wish my vase would show
Buds warm and sprigs of kindness
And love’s rich overflow
But O I mourn to see the weeds
Of stubbornness and pride
Those little ‘devil’s posies’
Unworthy of the Bride.

O Lord, have mercy on this soul
I grieve that it is so
For better flowers I would bring
And better flowers grow
And how I truly long the day
When carried near my breast
Are no more ‘devil’s posies’
But bouquets, heaven blest.

DM 30th October 2021