Be surprised by joy.

And even though these clouds have passed over,

leaving behind parched and dusty soil,

patches of brown or wheat

in place of verdant green,

I flower still.


In these years of drought

You keep me alive,

surprising me with beauty and strength,

wild blossoms that will not wither.

For my roots reach to waters deep.


And if not for hope

that thickens stalk and leaf,

this heat would stifle my breath and seep

who I am out of me.


Yet I have found reason

to lift neck and hands high,

petals open

to raindrops and dust clouds alike,

a little flower exultant in praise,

confident in the promise of life.


For where can faith burst forth

except in dryness and desolation,

or life brim full,

if not in a void of earth.