Mud Dough Lava

Blades of grass cling to my feet,
As I step into my garden from the yard;
Mud dough pushes them up from between –
My toes as I bend to pick the chard.

The dough is kneaded as I move along,
To the next section of radishes and corn;
The mixture of now weeds and grass,
Break the pain from stepping on a thorn.

The thought of Jesus’s crown on His head,
Sends a thankful prayer to our Lord above;
Not only did He give us His grace,
But also this food and endless love.

The dough balls thicken and roll on over,
The tops and edges of my toes;
It reminds me of a volcano’s lava,
Only spreading green pieces as it flows.

The edges of my feet and heels,
Keep adding the mud dough as I walk;
I strain to lift each foot as I continue,
Only to come down on a very sharp rock.

Thankful I was a few moments ago,
When the thorn was kept at bay;
Somehow through the balled-up mud,
The rock sliced like a blade of hay.

Hobbling I go with my arms and shirt full,
Back into the yard still wet with dew;
I ask The Lord to please help me back,
And heal my foot that looks like mud ball stew.

Trails of dough are left behind, As I slide my feet from side to side;
I release the excess off my feet,
Allowing the dew to cleanse with each glide.