The Wait

I wait for you my Lord
A mere beggar woman that I am
I await your word

I wait for you My Lord
A tattered rag, to barely cover my head
Another to hide my shame-your sword
I await your word

I see you there, among the roses
but among the thorns I crouch,
A rag for my modesty, another for flamboyancy,
and thus I speak
through my burning shame , just like Moses
I wait for you My Lord
I await you word.

Streets of Gold,
Lamps of Silver ...
Fine wine , new and old
flow like water ...
It is you they run to cater

I have nothing,
not ornaments, no, not a flower
nor golden water, nor a silver shower
If anything there is I have
then , it is the fact that I am your slave,
It is my never ending wait ..
For I wait for you my Lord
I await your word.

I have my tattered rags,
covering my modesty and shame
I have THE one word "Love", which to many seems lame
But then, gathering what I have
Not pining for what I dont,
I wait for you My Lord,
I await your Word