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  • CFR Sisters

The Gardener


We watched Him as He worked

Day after day

Calling and drawing life

From thick, miry clay


It wasn’t uncommon to find Him

With sleeves rolled all the way up

Elbow deep in fresh, dark soil

Or burying seeds in old, cracked cups


He sang aloud as He worked

In the heat and in the rain

Even finding in the weeding

A hope worth any prickling pain


When to plant and when to prune

He knew with total confidence

Looking, listening, and then just moving

Seeing, receiving beyond “common sense”


How could we not look with reverence

Upon every tree and outstretched limb

When we now understand most truly

Why they meant so much to Him


These days, we know that all along

Our dear Magdalene was right

It was indeed the voice of the Gardener

Heard through tears at dawn’s first light



Madison, CFR Postulant

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