He Will Make the Bloodroot
He will make the bloodroot Blossom underfoot, Flowers white, unfolding Wherever you have looked For thistles and for thorns.
The ground that used to mourn, That cried with Abel’s blood, Is laughing even now With Christ’s.
Pink Magnolia: an Ode
The magnolia, burdened with beauty, Palms open to heaven, Cups her hands to drink From the warm and golden stream.
Every flower a saucer, Translucent, a globe of light, Waits to water the earth With petals in her death.
The magnolia, weighty with glory, Boughs heavy with beauty, Eyes saucers of dawn,
Has been welcomed into the dance.