Trust On, Wildflower - Sonnet 33

If flower fair, in vastness of her fields,

Despairs alone and deems herself as frail,

Yet, gazing out beyond her petals, yields

Not to the icy breath of storm or gale;

If pouring rain, her tears are grief to loose;

If choosing life, her stem remain unbowed;

If hurricanes of waiting gird her roots

And move her straining voice to cry aloud:

Then, rising of the dawn will thaw her worth,

And song of waking sparrows in the run

Reminds her of the Hand that tilled the earth

And dressed her in the warmth of amber sun.

So trust on, wildflower, trust the start;

Your home is not the storm, but in the Heart.