Grain of wheat
A grain of wheat, so small and round,
Falls to the ground, its life unbound.
In darkness, it breaks, decays, and dies,
But in death, new life, and fruit, it implies.
Like Christ, it rises, transformed, anew,
Its journey long, with struggles, pain, and dew.
From godown to field, to altar high,
It becomes the Body, of Christ, we can't deny.
Death is not end, but a new birth,
A change, a gain, a new life on earth.
In struggles, pain, and failures, we find,
A process of growth, a new design.
So let us embrace, the dying grain,
And trust in life, that comes from pain.
For in death's darkness, new life will sprout,
And from struggles, beauty will devout.
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