You wear me away under winds and rain. Are you grinding me down, as an old statue losing definition? Or, Lord, are you polishing me?
You prune my crooked limbs; new growth unfurls from the cuts. Let these new shoots grow straight.
(Letter #2,038)
You wear me away under winds and rain. Are you grinding me down, as an old statue losing definition? Or, Lord, are you polishing me?
You prune my crooked limbs; new growth unfurls from the cuts. Let these new shoots grow straight.
(Letter #2,038)
