Let there be not only the roses,
Not only the buds of the day,
But the noon and the hour that discloses
The full flower torn away:
Not only the bliss and the sweet
When the sun is soft and low,
But the weary aching of feet
Tired out by the harrow and hoe:
Not only the gazing and sighing
Where the heather stands thick on the moor,
But the lonely watch and the crying,
With hunger awake at the door:
Not only the wonder of reaping
The fruit that hangs red on the bough,
But the strain and the stagger of creeping
In the brown wake of the plough.
Let this be the way that I go,
And the life that I try,
My feet being firm in the field,
And my heart in the sky.
~Philip Britts from Water at the Roots
Within each day of each life
hides the joy of discovery
despite the weariness.
The truth of it is:
a hunger and ache consume me
if I don’t seek out and harvest beauty
growing in each moment.
Though my boots are dusty
and my steps less sure,
the life I try on each day
is the certainty of a heart in bloom.