Am I, a servant be fit,
To wash thy feet with my tears,
Or wipe the dust of your feet,
With my dusty turban,
Or offer you a grain of rice,
When the sweat of toil smells,
Unlike the rich who smell of incense,
Scurry to cover your feet with gold,
And with riches unbound,
My bowl is empty but for few grains of rice,
What can I offer my Lord,
When you have all the riches untold,
The few grains of rice left of yesterday,
Can I offer it today,
Partake from my bowl,
Accept my Lord, for it is worth,
All the gold in world,
For I toiled to place it at your feet,
Am I worthy Lord?
© Mathew Thomas
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