I am a field
with deep furrows,
tracks your plough has made to till my soil.
What feels like loss, failure, disaster,
is from your height
a row for sowing seed.
Perhaps I do not recognise
this coming season, for it never having been,
and the crop, a batch untried.
Yes, I am a field starting over,
turned by a blade,
that one day I might send up a tender shoot.
Turn green from rain and sun,
and understand the ploughing of the heart
was necessary to bring about a yield.
– there are new harvests in us,
perhaps we have just not imagined this one yet
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
August 2020
the beautiful resilience, that faith lends to the human heart ❤
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Such a beautiful promise of hope and rebirth after a fallow season… thank you, dear Ana for sharing this hope with us ❤️
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This is truly a poem for a transition in the coronavirus season.
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