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