True

The mind wanders stumbling forward
It always comes back somehow to true
To the divine kernel of the seed that is growing
Surviving rain, flood, sun, wind, and drought
Somehow this seed does not die out
Only grows and changes with each passing season
There are times of pruning and care
Shoring up for the hard times of endurance
There are times when a storm comes
Pruning happens by being knocked about
Yet again the seed survives even in
The strongest of storms it is beneath it all
Waiting for the days of sunshine and warmth
To enjoy the cool of the evening
and the dew of the morning
Relishing being made and fashioned
By the hands of the Maker
Fearfully and wonderfully made