The Transplant

“A sower went to sow”, He said,
“To sow a crop to make some bread;
But land was very patchy soil;
Preparing it required some toil.

“Some seed fell on the pathway hard,
Packed down from cutting through the yard;
When boots on fertile soil descend,
Like kids of London blitz we send –

“Them far away from kith and kin,
Until we can this battle win;
Not perfect – but they stay alive,
And hopefully tomorrow thrive.

“Some seed on rocky land fell in;
Warm soil made rapid growth begin;
But scorching heat and shallow roots
Dried up the tender new-born shoots.

“It takes some time to send roots down;
With access blocked just shallow ground
Is all there is when trouble comes –
Resource dries up for kids and moms.

“Some seeds in patch of thriving weeds
Found they could not in life succeed –
Choked out by plants already there –
New plants which grew at all were rare.

“What were those plants without a crop,
Which choked new plants from farmer’s lot?
Why, ‘worry’, ‘love of riches’ too,
‘The cares of life’ – like clothes and food.

“But some seed fell on fertile soil
Where farmer’d poured his love and toil;
The seed found home, sent down deep roots,
Soaked in the light, made crop on shoots.”

Three decades back, well, close to four,
I heard those words at my front door;
God said, “I need to fix the soil,
So first of all that’s where we’ll toil.”

Initial task was ‘weeds in bloom’;
My worries grew – left little room
For goodly seed to take its place;
Well-rooted fears usurped the space.

But in the process of that work
I took some hits – big boots of jerks –
I sent the “kids” to safer climes;
They came back home at cancer-time.

But now it’s access to resource
Which plagues my field of life – deep source
Blocked off as I’ve commitments made,
So surface food’s all that is laid –

At feet of Savior – all that’s left
To feed new crops at his behest;
As human strength with age declines,
Less resource lies in life that’s mine.

And time itself grows short each day,
As high-class days front-loaded may
Be what is my reality –
I must select priorities.

But I’ve been here before today –
“Let go of that”, I’ve heard Him say;
“Toss cargo now into the sea
If you once more will freighter be”.

“Let go” – “Walk on” – “With courage face
The fact that all things in this place
Are for the moment – Cree-type stand:
All things are tools within this land.

For whites don’t their possessions own;
They’re owned by them – when seed is sown
They can’t let go, embrace the crop –
So all they get is what they’ve got.

“But you’re not white, you’re ‘Creenglish’, man;
That stance gives distance – hence you can
Bring hope to folks around this day –
Let go – succeed a different way.

“For all is mine – you stewards are;
There’s lots for all, enough by far –
Cut back – dig in; loose up the soil;
Transplant the shoot where you have toiled.

“The field will always patchy be;
Don’t use poor land; expect to see
A bumper crop – be wise in choice,
Then from that plant you’ll soon rejoice.”

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