For a time I let the wind decide,
Which seeds would land and where they'd hide.
A tangled garden, wild and free,
With blossoms grown for company.
I poured my water, bit by bit,
On thirsty roots that didn't fit,
And watched the sunbeams of my days
Bend to another's wilting ways.
​
oh I have found the thread of gold,
A map that only I can read.
The old story has grown cold,
I am the sower of my seed.
I'll plant my moonflowers and my ferns,
In soil that tenderly returns.
This garden is for me alone,
The wildest place I've ever known.
​
My nature is a running stream,
A crystal-clear and giving dream.
But now my banks are fortified,
No longer will my flow be dried
By fields that only drink and take,
To soothe their own unending ache.
My currents turn to greet the light,
To nurture what is true and right.
​
oh I have found the thread of gold,
A map that only I can read.
The old story has grown cold,
I am the sower of my seed.
I'll plant my moonflowers and my ferns,
In soil that tenderly returns.
This garden is for me alone,
The wildest place I've ever known.
​
My soul is not a borrowed cup,
To be filled up and poured right out.
It is a wellspring bubbling up,
With stars and whispers, chasing doubt.
The giving is a sacred grace,
For kindred gardens in their place.
​
oh I have found the thread of gold,
A map that only I can read.
The old story has grown cold,
I am the sower of my seed.
I'll plant my moonflowers and my ferns,
In soil that tenderly returns.
This garden is for me alone,
The wildest place I've ever known.