Balloon Flowers

I inherited furniture from my husband's grandmother.
Another woman planted the flowers in my garden, too.

I don't resent them when I see the balloon flowers bloom.
Then my hearts swells and breaks open in praise

Of gifts received that I did not chose.
If I had had more means, I may have used.

I am a steward, not a consumer.
God often wills us make room for another's choice.

I've heard these called weeds! Do you believe it?
I think I do. For I've seen solid maple spurned for particle board, too.

So women can be fools, indeed. We uproot what God would plant.
What we may then nurture in our flesh instead.

I'm told they're moved to make room for preference.
But fashions and fancies will choke out contentment.

Always buying, she'll never own.
Always having my way, I'd never gain.

Always grasping, grasping, one wouldn't hold anything
long enough to pass it on. 


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