construction ahead

beside my cottage door it grows,
the loveliest, daintiest flower that blows,
a sweetbriar rose.

at dewy morn or twilight's close,
the rarest perfume from it flows,
this strange wild rose.

but with the rain-drops on it beat,
ah, then, its odors grow more sweet,
about my feet.

oftimes with loving tenderness,
its soft green leaves i gently press,
in sweet caress.

a still more wondrous fragrance flows
the more my fingers close
and crush the rose.

dear lord, oh, let my life be so
its perfume with tempests blow,
the sweeter flow.

and should it be thy blessed will,
with crushing grief my soul to fill,
press harder still.

and while its dying fragrance flows
i'll whisper low, "he loves and knows
his crushed briar rose."

honestly, i've never liked poems. the way they rhyme after every fragmented phrase just sounds so corny to me. and half the time, i can't even comprehend the vague, subjective ideas that are supposedly woven within between the lines.

but this poem, i like. the imagery is just so beautiful! in a season of my life where things aren't going the way i had planned and patience is slowly losing ground to restlessness and worry, i can't help but grasp on to this hope that god has my entire life sitting on his fingertips. as much as i'd like to ball up and hibernate for awhile to escape the pressures of growing up, i'm comforted at the same time, of the blessings that come from relying on god and letting his kingdom resume construction within me.