Step Forward

The sickest branches are easiest to spot, by the damaged bark and the smell of rot our shears are poised to trim and cut the blades are opened and then snapped shut But some, appear benign and healthy their disease is sometimes sly and stealthy, are these the ones that most need pruning, if one's soul's to get a proper grooming? A lie that's told to soften the blow resentments kept by a fragile ego, love withheld or trust denied, oh, what's to trim can be hard to decide No rationales and no self-pity, no trusted friends, no sub-committees, a mirror and a cold, bright light may bring the truth into plain sight Then chop and change, oh gardener! With that comes growth, a spirit freer; a heart that's rid of darkened places makes life a lighter, gentler space