Shears

I stand back to admire

My masterpiece

But it’s far from what I desired

For on the ground are several leaves

That still belong up high.

When I started on you

I thought I knew

Just what you ought to be

So I pruned and cut-

Went at it for hours, but

You’re still as imperfect as me.

I’m no gardener

I’m not fit to man the tools

So when I take it up

To shape you up

I make of myself a fool.

Just like you, I’m only a sprout

In His beloved garden.

It’s not for me to figure out

How straight you should be standing.

The fact He’s placed me by your side

Gives me no power to decide

What size or shape your form should take

I’m just a plant, for goodness sake.

Growing us takes such time and care

Only the Son can get us there.

The best I can do

Standing by you

Is hold you up in time

You’re bent over in pain

Cover your leaves with mine

Shield you from the rain.

It’s our wise, seasoned Gardener

Planted two such different species together

And it’s for sure, He must have known

Our branches sometimes overgrown

Would get us in each other’s way

And we’d hurt more than words can say.

But at that point, especially there,

In His hands alone belong the shears

That cut where they will, remove what they may;

Still leave us more whole than we are today.