On Finding May’s first Buttercup

in a sea of wildflowers
with chipmunks chattering at my feet, and me
so much a part of the breeze that my being
disturbs nothing.

Let me be lost in a place
without signposts, where sorrel and vines
grow free.  Let me find my own path
in His peace , where nothing in sight
was created by man.

Let me wound nothing
and let nothing wound me, no more
than a sting or the bite of a thorn,
for such are the wounds
that heal without scarring.




2 thoughts on “On Finding May’s first Buttercup

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