It was written to go with a picture of a laughing little girl in a field full of wildflowers.
The Blossom
The bud is not the blossom,
It keeps the beauty hid,
Until the warming sunshine,
Lets unfolding start its bid.
And as the color settles,
Like dew upon the limb,
The blossom opens up to show,
The joy that comes from Him,
Who toiled within the garden,
To separate the weeds,
From flowering plants and bushes,
And tended all their needs.
In time, the blossom yields a fruit,
With promised swelling growth,
Full sweetness for the Gardener,
And seeds within for both.
NicknamedBob . . . . August 3, 2008
This is another wonderful one, NnB. I wonder if I can find the graphic. Do you still have a link to it?
Thank you for your many contributions to Amy’s Place.
Lovely! Thank you, Bob!