When my hands hurt
From too much weeding,
You tend the rose at my center.
When the heat breaks me,
You are the cool breeze
Erasing the lines from my face.
When too much thinking turns my heart to desert,
And I can’t find a friendly face,
Your voice becomes the gentle rain.
When I can’t sing,
When I can’t find the sky,
You are the song of my heart
That races to the sun and brings back the feeding light.