His Work Goes on

You have scorched, scorched all my fields of love the trees I loved, the lea I cherished, meadows of flowers, pigeon and dove, to your insolence, they have perished. black burnt remains of rose bushes stand, the willow weeps at its own demise, my hopes and dreams are now barren sands, thin smoke in an aroma of lies. hope still remains, the river flows on, sky looks down from its eternal blue, life sketches anew, brings a new dawn, fresh grass breaking, bring hint of green hue. in most dismal lost situations, faith remains a soldier to fight on, in dark scorched fields of tribulations, with wave of His hand, love is reborn. His work is still to be done, much more remains, oceans of wars amidst islands of reason, bridges to be built and heavens to regain, His work goes on, unabated all season.