I love the tender blossoms.
So I wait, expectantly.
For each precious bloom to open
and lift their face toward Me.
I adore every petal.
No two blooms are quite the same
My hand tends and trains the tendrils,
and I call each one by name.
I walk amidst My Lily bed.
It is there I feed and rest.
Amidst whispers from the Lilies,
My heart of love, is blessed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem