In still night
(world’s eyes away from me)
I with faith smaller than mustard seed
and wobbling knees hesitant
awaited the farmer’s arrival.

At thin breeze
(discomfort nearly drove me home)
I with faith invisible as sand-grain
and koala of doubt clinging to my heart
awaited the farmer’s arrival.

On first challenge
(with no less complaining)
I, eclipsed by honey-dripped wishes
cried out at the wind
tearing ghost-flower from me ––

But there You held it,
furnished Love’s mighty tree,
blooming and flowering in the tempest.
And so I praise You: Farmer of my Faith,
Guardian of the Faithless.