My heart, a seed within soil, calls the heavens to coax me out of dormancy.
My arms, oaks on drought-afflicted land, ache from the lost embrace.
My outstretched hands, messengers between earth and sky, cast pollinated prayers to the wind:
Beloved, do not allow your creations to wither. Without you, we are not whole.
Nourish our roots with your abundance; bring forth the flowers of our soul.
Deliver us to ourselves, and let our purpose grow.