would that make you love me?
Would that keep you there?
If I could paint a picture or could dance on air,
would you say you love me,
with no affections spare?
What if I would feed the poor or give my life to prayer,
is that why you would love me?
Is that why you would care?
If I had skin of porcelain and eyes beyond compare,
would I be what you would want?
If I could see the souls of men and free them from their lair,
would I be enough for you?
Could you find something there?
Or what if I’m just as I am—broken, lame and bare?
Could you make me beautiful?
Could you with love repair?
If I stop striving for your love through being something rare,
would you show me who I am?
Could grace undo despair?
Then crooked though my heart may be, with you my heart I’ll share.
Because you love me as I am,
with you I cannot err.