I admit: I dent it - y of me!

Oh God I feel susceptible and weak
(I wonder where we get our feelings from).
I wish I was resil'yant, so to speak;
'tmay be what really matters is what's come

from growing (from what's planted) in our lives,
if we are like a garden plot of soil;
a crop, as planted, for a time survives,
& we can help it in our race to "boil"...

More seeds are spread, & then infect more plots
that's if we let their roots grow deep in us, 
till time comes we're identified (in spots,
or totally) by all our crops, & must

then let the matter of our bodies go
back to the dust where they came from again,
& someone-else makes soil from dust, you'll know
them by the crop they grow in this life when

they get to make those choices every day,
to more reflect their Father God above,
in what they think about, & act, & say,
to more spread here below, his kind of love;

or else, to be that independant sort,
who sorts it out alone, because they are
their own selves, coz they are not owned, or bought,
& no-one else but them is quite the star.

Oh God I want your will to be what's done,
to shine around this world more every day.
No matter what I feel, you are the one
I give allegiance to, & I'll obey!