The Servant At Thy Soles.

I am nothing but the servant at your soles.
I dwell on the ground for even that place is too prominent for me.
I eat the scraps at your soles. But even that is too worthy.
The nights are crisp and raw.
The concrete digs into the osseins and impair the spine of thy servant.
Yet even this I’m not worthy of.
I tremble in the cold rain and smile in the dark for I know.
Thy servant’s clothes are torn apart, the sandals are long gone.
My heels are consumed, the figs and the stones have become thy servant’s enemy.
My trace is not honest for I can not support my load.
Thy servant I am gratified to be.
I await thee when the sun is out.
I await thee when the moon stretches out.
For even as this I am willing.
When the rain starts falling, and the night becomes dark.
When the sheep are in the fields, and the gates are closed.
You oh shepherd return.
I know this for I await thee.

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