by Cheryl Merrick
Hope growing again like new shoots
on a withered branch;
I returned to church and the temple.
Soon engulfed in a chemical fog,
I lost the ability to think and move.
Smothered by depression and confusion,
I struggled to maintain my identity.
Finally, watered by tears,
hope began to sprout again.
Was I, like the current bush,
being pruned so that I would bear good fruit?
Slowly the sun returned,
allowing me to feel the warmth
of the Master Gardner’s great love
in protecting and wisely guiding
a most fragile plant.