The journeys of our lives are never fully charted.
There come, sometimes, to each of us, deserts to cross,
Where the green edge on the horizon may be our destination,
Or an oasis on our way,
Or a mirage that beckons and will leave us lost.
When fear grips the heart, or despair bows the head,
May be we bend as heart and head lead us down
To touch the ground beneath our feet,
And scoop some sand into our hands,
And receive what the sand would teach us:
It holds the warmth of the sun
When the sun as left our sight,
As it holds the cool of the night when the stars have faded.
And hidden among its grains are tiny seeds, at rest and waiting.
Dormant, yet undefeated. Desert flowers.
Moistened by our tears,
And by the rain that comes to end even the longest drought,
They send down roots, and they bloom.
Oh, may we believe in those seeds,
And the seeds within us.
May we remember in our dry seasons
That we, too, are desert flowers.