You take me by the hand
To walk in your gentle garden,
Beckoning me come further
To settle and perhaps sit
Down,
By the chrysanthemums and cucumbers,
Nestled in the corner of your blossoming Spring--
A curious coupling it would seem.
"Come near, my dear one, and rest by my home.
I shall be here your Host.
Learn from me, as you kneel enshrined,
In the hope that I here do reside.
Yet know this, paled traveler,
Dearest of my heart,
That I remain here,
That here might become your heart.
Do you think that the God of all that is
Could be so easily caged,
Held, as it were, in so shallow a shrine?
Though here you must--
As Mother, generations before--
First find me and abide.
Learn to rest, to quiet, to care,
Neither when nor where you will go,
Neither how nor why you will find,
But only that you are, that I am,
That we.
And then you may withdraw."
