Retreat

Her fingers danced among the thorns, plucking ripeness from its perch. 

The fruits of her labors
                  so abundantly delicious. 

Though she was a novice at life
                         She considered herself refined in the art of living.

There were other ways; certainly
Yet hers was a place of fortified faith
                          The belief that should she be consistently committed, all rewards would be bestowed.


Thorns, like weeds - had their place. 

                          Their distinctiveness in growth was beset only by the brush strokes of color framing poignant efforts to be alive. 


And from this, she pulled a dignity of living well. Living with complete exhaustion of all endeavors toward excellence. For surely, any effort would yield some crop. 
That largess her proof of enhancing to an excellent being.