Hints of heaven

Poems that reflect on inspiration and insight

On Returning to Writing

Too long, I cried. Too long!

Beneath the ground

I’ve left this treasure


Where it could not be found

Or cause displeasure.

In other ways

I thought to please

But found no ease


Like bulbs in winter through the snow

Began to grow

Renewed desire in tender shoot 

Not dead but dormant, taking root,

And drawing from its sweet supply

A richness broad and deep and high

God-given without measure.

For child, you said, You see I give

Not for destruction but to live

Within you

As you draw from me

That what you have others might see

And what you learn others might know

Then feeding from it start to grow,

Breaking the bonds that hold them till,

Conformed in pattern to my will,

Their lives take on the form and grace

Of leaf and flower each in place

And, each in season, bud and fruit,

Seeds without number taking root.

For life I give no tomb can hold

But multiplies a thousandfold

The storehouse of my treasure.