We come to You full
Of ourselves
Or what we consider treasure
Delved out or shaped from the soil

We empty to you filth
Brought forth
From the mud that is us
Fling it on the ground before You

Every dirty gift you clean
every sickly skill
You drench with dettol
And then You add Yourself

So sometimes splashing out
There can be miles,
Colours or cantatas
Stanzas, a simple smile

A good day’s work
and a listening heart
A flow of time and hope 
and true treasure that is You

But here and there
We pick up pride
Or some offense and hence
We’re forced to come again 
or hide