Sometimes I think I am so much further than I am.
I've run and run, then turn to see so little ground.
Thought I was a giant, but more a little lamb.
I'm fierce and strong; how do words make me unsound?

This new life is plagued by choices before I was born,
Though all made new, some things grow through,
The weeds all pulled, free from snare and thorn
Yet sprouts, a plant, I swear I knew.

And wonder weather to undo...or if this be a flower, true?

Let waters pour, again uproot, anything be that not of You.