Gethsemane Gardening

He could have gone to the garden

Just for soul searching agony,

He could have left,

Closing the gate firmly behind him.

Instead, His knees imprinted rock

Olive trees rustled their future plans

Blood sweat watered white lilies

And in the depths of His soul

He heard them, He smelled them

Smiling, He planted the assurance

Of future gardens,

And sits by an open gate.

Asking us to enter.