You are my gardener, oh Lord.
You cut my branches with your sword -
my sefishness and pride.
You heal my cuts and wipe my tears,
you deal with worms of doubts and fears,
when I'm hurt and tired.
You give me water, soil and light
and on a cold frosty night
in your warm hands I hide.
You prune my branches, nourish roots
so I can grow and give you fruits,
in you alone abide.
19.02.02