A Prayer

I am no poet; I just mimic one and pretend That I could make a ballroom of words dance And entertain an audience. But my choreography earns no applause Because there is nothing special about it at all. Boasting of this ability is but An exercise in futility. But You, You are the Creator of Words; You are the farmer and I am the soil On which You patiently toil. And all these verses That come out of me Will not be if not for Your seed. So from now on, Though un-special they may be, Every finished poem, These ballroom of words, Shall be dancing in praise of You.