Poetry

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We may not dot, every-I
Nor even, cross every-T
But this one thing, we do know
is that we're not what we used to be

No outside mask, do we wear
to be a cloak, to cover our sins
But we keep them forever, before the Lord
so he can enter and mend within

We have no long, drawn out prayers
to let our voice's be heard and known
But we go into our secret closet
and tell God and him alone

Praying to close the door, of malice and hate
and brush envy from beneath my shoes
And pray to kick out, jealousy and strife
and thanking him, for to allow, me to choose

His truths and righteousness, not my own
let him be the maker of this clay
And just try to stay, meek and humble
for this truly is the right way

We don't rejoice when others fall
but pray to keep iniquity, out of our hearts
Asking God for more, grace and mercy
in knowing these also, must be a part

Of our every day, walking with him
proving his way's, are pure and true
And that's even if one's, think we're but a nickle
it's good in knowing, the right things to do

For the potter knows, what the vessel needs
what it takes on this journey each day
And what ever's wrong, he will make it right
for he's the potter, I'm only, but the clay

So cry out O' clay, with sincere tears
lift your face to God above
Let him work on you, until he gets through
putting in you, all his fruits of love

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