That the dry canyons of my soul might drink.
The cracked ground and crumbling rocks
Are crying out for a water that lives on and on forever.
Let the dips of my soul become brooks that flow.
Let the ditches be canals aplenty to make a garden grow.
Carve out a river in me,
Etched in the barrenness of my heartland.
Let the quiet, dead valleys of dirt and sand
Become an Eden again.
Come rushing in.
By Samantha Lindholm
Written May 30, 2012
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