Before the fire;
Before the looming towers of progress,
And the billowing smoke of indifference,
There was a garden,
Blessed with warm days and shaded showers.
When the world was new and faultless,
And there was no cause for grief,
The Father of Light entrusted a holy charge,
To care for the Earth and tend to the land.
Every beautiful soul and tender heart,
That turns their hands to the soil,
Is a light in a shadowed land,
Standing defiantly against the darkness;
A herald of the new Earth.
Here in the rolling hills,
Nestled between sea and mountains,
The treasured heart that walks this land,
Holds fast to the ancient task,
And nurtures creation.
The soil she treads springs forth,
Into vibrant fauna,
And budding trees blossom,
With vivid hues of flowering fruit.
This same heart that finds herself,
Called to forest and field,
Commits her days to love the heart,
That finds itself troubled.
Without pause or cause to self,
She endeavors to care for those,
Who care not for themselves.
Patiently she waits for the garden,
As graciously she beckons,
The wounded and needy,
To find shelter by the fire.
She is a Lightbearer.
Far be it from a curse,
This vast kindness;
Cumbersome still it can be,
This burden of affection,
That beckons her to offer all,
And reserve nothing.
So, let this garden be blessed,
As it blesses others.
Let she who labors here,
Find joy in the planting,
And delight in the harvest.
Let she who commits her days,
To serving others,
Rather than herself,
Find rest in the shade of trees,
And peace in the garth.
Impress this admiration and affection,
Ever on my heart,
That by the same grace that brought me,
I shall walk,
Ever humbled and with unending adoration,
In the presence of the Lightbearer.