IN AN ALGARVE GROVE

In an Algarve grove, grow almond trees,
Beneath azure skies, midst golden daffodils,
While in bursting bloom these tall trees thrill,
Festooning carmine clusters, which bumble bees
Sip with ardent zeal and earnest ease.
Fleshy fruits soon ripen as nature wills,
Harvested by hands mature, who scan the hills
Chanting hymns of joy, leaves rustle in the breeze.
On The Tree of Life grow souls of Good,
Each wakens at their chosen hour of orient day,
Early or tardy, for Almighty God’s at play.
Buds unfurl, unfolding justly as they should,
Trees trust that Great Power which knows the way,
The Sage says “Trust that same way to your own Selfhood!”