Against all odds (and evens, too) I am the place I am;
It wasn’t me who got me here–
No dream, no scheme, no plan.
There was a word when I was young and then a space between
For growing things that grow mature,
All fresh and lush and green.
A seedling still, but evergreen, I raise my branches high:
A sign of openness, a sign
To You, my true supply.
I am a transplant far from home but rooted in the vine,
Thinking thoughts of glory shown
When water turned to wine.
