My name is Ruth
And I heard a sound
Of harvest-grain
Falling to the ground
From there rose a soft ascension
Of the warm harvest wheat
Across the threshold to the threshing floor
Transformation complete
I gleaned those that thought they were passed over
Saved for later doesn’t mean rejected
In the right season you’ll return
Ripe, equipped, whole and protected
Husk and chaff
Separated
Every kernel with hope for something more
Beyond the lintel and through the door
Gather in the doorway of joy
And brace yourself beneath its beams
The substance of faith
Are seeds for your wildest dreams
Across the threshold to the threshing floor
Beyond the lintel and through the door
Prepare to harvest your faith
Glittering hope like never before
© James Welch 2019