Withered Tree

a poem by Karen Aakansha Paul

I am like a withered tree,
With a few blossomed flowers.
And lift my hands above to you,
My prayers to offer.

I am a withered sinner,
With a little hope to live.
Before I come into Your presence,
Help me clean up my sin.

O Lord I am your feet’s dust,
And before You have I not a single right of speech.
O Lord help me,
Not to lift my head above.
But help me put it deep down,
In earth with shame.

For I am like a barren land,
Where trees You can make to grow.

Then help me Lord,
Accept my prayers,
Your hand above my head,
Take not away.

But gather me in Your presence. AMEN