I Wish You Flowers

Sculptured fragrance that whispers of love: the perfect rose
in creamy white, crimson red, golden-peach elegant clothes.

Delicate snow-white baby’s breath, gladiola and iris, too,
Ruffled petunia, orchids, violets, flowers of every hue.

There’s more! God’s bounty of beauty lavishly growing
Around the world a dazzling array of form and color showing.

I wish you flowers even more remarkable than any of these;
Picture a hedge with sharp thorns, taller than trees.

That’s part of its splendor. Thorns? you cry.
Yes! Well-watered, thriving, reaching to the sky.

God gives each believer a hedge of protection.
The colors are a product of sanctified imagination.

How about green, with royal-purple budded exclamations?
Or, maybe pale gray leaves and flaming blood-red carnations?

As absolute protection against all that would assault and harm our lives
His hedge perfectly encircles and wondrously beautifies,

Allowing us to bloom where we’re planted, refreshed by blessing showers.
So for today and always, my friend, I wish you a hedge of flowers.

— Elaine Hardt ©1995
Photo by Carlene Hardt ©2006

Ode to Weeds

Oh, beautiful for flowers small and wild variety,
Famed for unique design and curious complexity,

Nearly camouflaged in color, some of you are barely seen;
Others sprout in wild defiance, proudly wearing shades of green.

Persistently determined (from experience I’ve learned)
Emblazoned in a sidewalk crack when my back is turned.

Spring’s recent shower seems to have revitalized your beauty;
Strong-willed, you keep coming back, your staunchly stubborn duty.

Your bonnie blooms are completely unappreciated;
Your usefulness, my dislike of you, is now contemplated.

Your roots so long and tangled in non-uniformity;
I tug and then I conquer you, your toughness I can see.

I question all the work involved, oh, what is best to do?
Pull by hand in admiration, or spray the toxic brew?

In God’s wisdom He designed this fascinating sphere,
But I question your invasion, especially right here.

Would that I had gardened in Eden so far away and fair,
Then this irritating burden would not be mine to bear.

Your rowdy seed I do not need, as yet the breezes blow;
I ponder life’s existence and things I do not know.

Here, in conclusion, my simple song I urge you heed,
In tribute grudgingly, this springtime Ode to Weeds.

By Elaine Hardt ©2005

Grow and Bloom where you are.

Photo by Peter Hardt ©2005

Artificial Flowers

During the pastor’s long-winded prayer Sunday morning I sneaked a glimpse towards the pulpit. There on the table in front was a large bouquet of artificial flowers.

As I pondered those flowers I think I even saw a tiny spiderweb from one fern to another. With a wry smile I reached for my pencil and here’s what I jotted on the back of the Sunday bulletin:

Why I don’t want to be an artificial flower:

No scent. The thing has no fair aroma that stirs the senses, that paints pictures on the minds of the viewer.

No freshness. No need for water’s blessing in a cycle of life.

No reproduction. The thing cannot make other flowers, cannot pass life on.

The thing invites creepy things, like spiders, to set up webs. It gets dusty.

No change. The thing is dead, always has been and always will be.

Then I summarized my thoughts by writing,

I’m glad I’m alive. Life: what a gift from God! Lord, I want to grow and bloom and please you, most of all.

by Elaine Hardt ©2007