The original Plan—perfect but rejected.
Sending hope cascading like a slinky toy down a staircase,
coiling, tumbling, coiling, tumbling
landing in a tangled heap.
The same Plan—a different approach set into motion,
to reclaim, and restore hope, unfurling it from earth
to far beyond the stars.
Unfolding, revealing year after year, a tender plant,
growing to glorious perfection.
Yet, thorns, each threatening to surround and overtake
the precious blossom, attacking, bruising, marring,
ripping, harming, destroying.
Beauty did not slip with brutality nor love from the lash,
for the Plan remained fixed, firm, and secure.
No, the true blossom of reconciliation did not die
but lived.