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.
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