When words, like hearts are set in stone,

We pry them out, but not alone,

We line them up in careful rows,

One of us reaps, and the other one sows.

And that seed reaches beyond our sight,

As sprouting roots await the light,

We wonder if we’ve sown in vain,

As tears erupt from bitter pain.

Time goes by, but nothing grows,

Until the living water flows,

And life is born in softened clay,

The Spirit lit the Written Way.