A gardener walks the quiet rows,
Shears in hand, with practiced grace.
He cuts away what bears no life,
Though loss is written on the place.
The branches crack, the leaves fall still
The ground receives what could not grow.
It looks like harm to passing eyes,
Yet deeper love is at work below.
For sap once trapped in lifeless wood
Is freed to feed the living vine.
What stays must breathe, must bend. must trust
The careful cuts of hands divine
So God removes what drains the soul—
Old fears, old sins, old hardened ways.
Not out of wrath, but mercy sure,
To teach the heart to live and praise.
The pruning hurts, the season grieves,
Yet fruit will come in time and light.
For what He cuts, He does not hate—
He cuts to make the branches thrive.