Jonquils

Oh you old broken jar 

you are like me, 

no use, no use

but Jesus

if You won’t mend

my shattered soul

let me spill light

from all these cracks

leak life to these dry acres,

be refilled 

from some unseen source

to pour and pour.

Let every gap be a door

into grace.

Let me remember

what blooms from seeming death

in the secret place,

faith multiplying underground

like jonquils

out of the light

under the feet of the disbelieving

who stand shivering

expecting forever

frozen ground.

© Nancy A. Henry (2000)