In shadows deep, a quiet grace,
Where wounded souls still find their place.
A garden blooms from broken ground,
Where seeds of hope are yet unbound.
For in each ache, a truth takes root,
A bitter stem with blessed fruit.
The tears we shed, a gentle rain,
That cleanses hearts of fleeting pain.
What seems a loss, a final end,
Becomes a path that will transcend.
The heart once torn learns how to mend,
Led by the care of a faithful Friend.
So let the pain give birth to art,
A sacred scripture of the heart.
For every trial, a lesson earned,
A vessel broken, gently turned.
To Him we rise, to Him return,
A timeless truth for which we yearn.
In every sorrow, God is near,
Dispelling doubt, dissolving fear.
—September 8,2020
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem