Poem November 19, 2007 Issue

Harvest

Bettie Gray

Praying through the night to find the way, at last, at dawn, I heard divine Love say:

Bring them in.
Let them all come in
to the heaven in your heart—
the ones called weak or
cruel or bad or wrong,
the ones who may have sowed
some sorrow
in your days—
especially them, the ones
you think you can't let in.

Reap.
Gather them.
Plant them in Love's heaven
in your heart.
No tares of theirs,
or yours,
will ever root
in that good ground. Then
stand and watch
as every hint
of chaff
is blown away
on heaven's wind.

—Bettie Gray

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