I’m feeling clipped and left in the pile,
only hoping to be whittled,
or used for some sort of decorative
mantle piece that will gather dust
but suddenly I’m lifted high,
and I can feel Your face like the sun.
The root in me is the root in You,
and all is deepened and brought water
and learns to rest, then grow,
an undulating dance of branch
And all I ever thought I was is merely kindling
for the fire,
but all I ever am in You is everything from beginning
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