Your Fruit Be Your Pastor Poem by Mark Heathcote

Let your fruit be your pastor
Let them your children feed your soul
Let them be your final parade
Let it rain with hands and feet
Let their clapping of thunder
Be residual in your heart
In them, you are saved.

Let it rain with tears and laughter
Let them feed your soul
Forever after
Full of grace
Let your worship also, be their glory too.
And your glory
Be their prince of thieves
With each stolen smile
A seed to follow you on…
In them, you are saved.

Treasures are they
No one can ever rid themselves fall as a pawn.
Let your fruit be your sweet toil and languor
Let them your children feed your soul
Let their claps of thunder, storm
Let them be your final parade
In them, you are saved.
Your fruit be your pastor
Your fruit be your master
Your fruit be your pastor
In them, you are saved.