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