Secret Harvest
We have bread to eat that no one knows
from reaping oft alone
At times we share from another's field
where weeping they have sown
A bond is formed when two lone hearts
are both in tune with God
And fields are ripe with harvest
Though grown from different sod
Our baskets are filled and as we meet
again to share so much
New fruit appears and seed is sown
in response to the Spirits touch
Some of the fruit is new and fresh
while some is preserved in time
Age-old Truth as good as new
feeding her heart and mine
Faith is grown with peace and joy
as rows of love spring up
with promise of a future crop…
and an over-flowing cup
In barren times and driest clime
the prospects might seem dim
But deepest wells are bubbling up
and fill right to the brim
Reaping a secret harvest
that only Heaven knows
I share with you my dearest friend…
whatever my garden grows
David Kettler
1/24/11
Mom and Dad often sat in their den and talked about the current Wednesday night study, or whatever they had been enjoying from the Bible. After Dad passed away, I knew that Mom would really miss that. I tried to make it a point to call her once or twice a week and just share something that had been special to me from the study or the Sunday before. That is what inspired this poem.
We have bread to eat that no one knows
from reaping oft alone
At times we share from another's field
where weeping they have sown
A bond is formed when two lone hearts
are both in tune with God
And fields are ripe with harvest
Though grown from different sod
Our baskets are filled and as we meet
again to share so much
New fruit appears and seed is sown
in response to the Spirits touch
Some of the fruit is new and fresh
while some is preserved in time
Age-old Truth as good as new
feeding her heart and mine
Faith is grown with peace and joy
as rows of love spring up
with promise of a future crop…
and an over-flowing cup
In barren times and driest clime
the prospects might seem dim
But deepest wells are bubbling up
and fill right to the brim
Reaping a secret harvest
that only Heaven knows
I share with you my dearest friend…
whatever my garden grows
David Kettler
1/24/11
Mom and Dad often sat in their den and talked about the current Wednesday night study, or whatever they had been enjoying from the Bible. After Dad passed away, I knew that Mom would really miss that. I tried to make it a point to call her once or twice a week and just share something that had been special to me from the study or the Sunday before. That is what inspired this poem.
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