The Field – A poem

Now here’s something completely different. And yes, I wrote it myself.

The Field – by Jay Lamborn

Rocky, fallow, full of thorns –

What farmer would take the time,

Put forth the effort ,

To prepare this field for seed?


My Lord digs and pulls

Plows, lifts, waters, feeds

Puts Herculean effort

Into pulling these weeds.


Rocks removed, soil cleared,

He plants and waters,

Covers and feeds,

And cares for the seeds.


The crop slowly grows,

Poking through the soil

In straggly, stubborn rows,

Fighting with the weeds.


My Lord prunes,

He trims and He cuts,

Raising these plants

Growing from ruts.


He works, He toils,

With love and strife

Brings forth life

From the ruined soil.


The plants they grow,

They reach higher

In their little rows,

They begin to flower.


Seed and soil

Could take no action

No work or worth

Nothing of their own

Could make them grow

Could make them flower

Only my Lord and His great Power.



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