I tend to the garden
Of my own deep
Seated faith
Not always faith
In what should
Be held fast
But faith sometimes
In me
Or my desires
Or my ability
Deep rooted is
My fickle faith
Requiring a constant 
Tilling to fight
Against the weeds
At times of course
I see the flourish
Of beauty that grows
From the deep soil
For a time
I must let the weeds
And the wheat grow
Until I know for sure
What to let go of
And what to keep watering
My prayer
O God
Is for wisdom
In the daily task
Of tending to
My fertile heart

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