Don’t look at me like some kind of star
When I do signs and ye marvel in wonderment.
Don’t praise me, please; I’m just a jar –
Privileged to be filled with the Master’s content.
As the Lord’s creation, made for His will,
He’s got me set up like a pencil.
Dusted off and lifted out of the shelf,
He’s taken away my sinful self.
Clap your hands to the Lord and shout His praise
When you see me performing on the dais.
I have power because God supplied the watts,
And thus, to Him should you tip your hats.
Don’t count the Spirit’s Gold as mine:
I’m just a jar, clay is my bone.
Dust is the dude that works these signs;
God plays the tune, I’m the trombone!
© 2013 Kingsley U. Ayistar