within this orchard
of perpetual spring,
(the eden gone out
of earthly minds)
there resides this mystery:
each of us are conceived there,
from seed to sapling to maturity.

imagine the grove,
the boundless arborescence.
hear the birds laud,
dressing each bough
with nests of twine
and crooning babes.
faithfully, the ashen clouds
drift above each morning,
kissing and nurturing
our roots with rain.
and we respond,
sprouting with blossoms,
budding with fruit,
sowing our fetuses
within moist earth.

at last, when the warmth
of daylight wanes,
the Husbandman arrives,
strolling deliberately
with His attentive eyes.
He tends to our requirements
with His hands,
and with shears, He prunes
to encourage our yield.
then He moves Himself
a few strides away,
beholding our entirety:
His vibrant design.
His lovely creatures.

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