Autumn

as Mildred Zylstra put it in her “Autumn” poem:

            The lily bulb is buried deep in earth.

            Onion-layered skins, brown-tissue thin,

            Will crumple off.

            Green shoot emerge, tall stem,

            White bell will ring out joyfully

            In blue spring sky

            With tongues of gold.

            This fragile sheath of skin,

            Brown-spotted, wrinkled flesh,

            Will shrivel up.

            What flower, with what form

            Will blossom forth in unknown joy

            In new spring sky

            Only the Gardener knows.

                                                        -from Talking with God