Oh Lord, here i am

still weak and on my knees.

face down i feel like I

do not belong,

even here at Your feet.

i have no tears to bathe

You with,

my heart is dried

liked baked, crumbly

clay that has been

outside in the sun too long.

i am barren desert

wastelands.

Come call me home.

i am bent with age,

there is nothing

that would make

men raise their

eyes to look at me.

Will You Oh Lord, still

look for me?

Will You Oh Lord,

still come gather me

from the thorny bushes

i have caught myself in?

Will You Oh Lord,

still recognize me in

this state I am in?