I talk to crowds easily, lead meetings naturally
but one-on-one clam up. Small-talk left to me
soon peters out, fizzles, yields to silence.
So I don't talk to strangers. End of discussion,
silence swells. It's God's will.
Isn't it? He made nature, it's my makeup.
And if it's not? Moses turned him down,
said he wasn't eloquent. Isaiah's unclean lips,
purified, answered, "Here am I, send me."
I don't want to red-rover run through – or to – the line of strangers.
But I'm not at the wheel.
God, remove my fear, show me what to be,
and if you wish, send me.
but one-on-one clam up. Small-talk left to me
soon peters out, fizzles, yields to silence.
So I don't talk to strangers. End of discussion,
silence swells. It's God's will.
Isn't it? He made nature, it's my makeup.
And if it's not? Moses turned him down,
said he wasn't eloquent. Isaiah's unclean lips,
purified, answered, "Here am I, send me."
I don't want to red-rover run through – or to – the line of strangers.
But I'm not at the wheel.
God, remove my fear, show me what to be,
and if you wish, send me.
No comments:
Post a Comment