While Nature has made
neither sun, nor air, nor the running stream,
the property of any one,
still to your private bounty have I come,
which now I humbly beg of you to grant me.
I am not intending to bathe myself there
nor overstay my ardor,
but to relieve my thirst.
My mouth, as I speak, lacks moisture,
and my jaws are parched,
and scarce is there a passage for my voice therein;
a draft of your water will be nectar to me,
and I shall own, that, together with it,
I have received my life at your hands.
In that flow you will be giving me sustenance.
So let this entreaty move you,
who commands ramrod attention of my heart.
For what generous Divinity would not
these fervent words confer access?
© 1972, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
🙂