I know the garden is left untended
to flower and die as You intended
an occasional trip down a row, maybe,
pulling a weed or planting a seed,
but I need a visit badly indeed,
for my roots are dying, you’ll surely see.
Earth so dry, and I’m really trampled,
foulest disappointment I have sampled,
but my pain is naught compared to others.
My core has shriveled, I’m barely a weed,
and perhaps I could even lose my seed,
I don’t deserve help, but I’ve got brothers,
And my sisters too, they all pitched in
forgave all my wrongs, each and every sin
but only You can renew this field, invigorate.
Just a tear from Your eye could water the ground,
and soothe the root-pain, though I’ll still be bound,
I hope you come soon, or it may be too late.