In a garden,
The bucket laden and light,
I knelt at Jesus’ feet.
Mindful of the matriarchs of my faith,
Who knelt as this so long before
To anoint these same dusty, earth-caked feet.
One spilled incense, her destiny over them,
And rinsed with her tears and dried with her mane.
Another caressed these feet in a garden, as me.
Her tears seeped through closing wounds.
Salt stung healing flesh.
My bucket is brimming but perfectly leveraged.
Only I can carry it so.
Filled with my destiny, my praise, my tears,
Oh Jesus, let me spill them,
Cascading over your toes.
Words of adoration.
Poems of praise,
These words will wash you with my wonder,
But your earth-dust will not fade.
For the feet were glad to walk upon
The soil the hands had made.
My words of praise flow over
Soaking ground and seeds of faith.
The words of life and lives of hope,
Drink deeply of their praise.
Let them blossom, grow and drop their seed.
For what are words, their droplet,
But to bring fruit to bear?
Enrich the soil and beautify
I find you there.