Divine Hour

There is a Divine power

in the early hours.

The morning star a tiny twinkle,

yet bright enough to make your eyes crinkle.

 

The hoe’s sharp blade breaks the soil’s crust

and pulls back a dark moist mound before another thrust.

Pungent earthy smells blow past my nose.

Here is a good home for pea roots to grow.

 

Sacred seeds of possibility

planted by hands soiled with humility.

Tenderly placed within the prayer of earth’s fertile womb

asking for each to bud and bloom.

 

Oh the ambitious garden projects spring pushes us to complete!

The sky’s daylight is beginning to retreat.

The gardener’s body is stiff and bones ache.

Just one more row for goodness’ sake!

 

I rise with Divine power

of the birth hour.

Today’s tomorrow,

can’t be begged, bought or borrowed.