The Orchardman's Daughter

I met the orchardman's daughter.

A young woman in her twenties;

Her father had been steward forty years!

So, naturally, she'd been there 

All her life. We spoke at length.

She said more than she knew, 

And knew so much more than she could say.

The Holy Spirit urged me to ask her then, 

Hinted that He'd sent her for the purpose,

So I merely mentioned the apple blossoms 

Then she took on most reverent tones, 

Severe, even. She warned: 

No one can enter the orchard then! 

If the blooms are disturbed, 

Even by a strong enough breeze, 

All fruit is lost, even hope of fruit. 

We guard the orchard night and day.

I knew she'd say this, 

And in just that way, 

So I sent a quiet kiss Heavenward. 

For I am an Orchardman's daughter, too. 

This home is His high-walled garden,  

These daughters are His trees. 

I merely steward the place.

There will be glory and beauty for Him, 

And fruit enough for the masses.

See! Already they bloom!  

Only wait, He tells me,

And for now, guard them diligently. 


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