Hiding (In the Cool of the Garden)

April 16, 2009

I hear your voice; you’re calling out my name.
You know the place I hide, inside the bush.
In knowing this, I tremble in my shame,
and dare not show, for breaking of our trust.

My mind is filled with terror of your Love
For what can light have anything to do
with such as me, a moving lump of mud
who violated all Your laws of Truth

You come to me. So gentle are your steps.
You count my wrongs: for picking from that tree,
and taking lightly warnings of a death.
Yet sorrow fills your voice, how could it be?

For you have planned to count it all, and nail
it on the other tree, upon yourself.

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