Oh, humble Divine Mother Earth,
I am on my knees in your Garden,
inhaling your sweet fragrance,
pouring out my gratitude —
receiving your blessings.
Passersby see an old man weeding —
they do not know:
I pluck old habits, old thoughts
from my mental garden.
I prune old desires.
I do this lovingly, but they do not know.
They do not smell the Earth,
hear Her breathe,
sing through the birds,
sigh in the forest breeze.
They do not touch Mother’s earthy raiments of
Joy and Wonder
woven of vast colors and blessings.
They see flowers, I see Love.
They see weeds, I see Love.
They see me, but
I am the Love they do not see.
I am the Mother humbly on Her knees.
I am the Garden of Love they admire
and yearn for in their heart.