Lord Send Your Flood Poem by Michael Nkwocha

Tyrant, oppressor
man becomes to fellow man
yet in no time he'd be still in the grave.
What be the use o fempty boasts
as though the creator himself were
'tis a breath that keeps his speech
when this is out, his world is ended.
A little humble were man to be
his wretched state - as clear as day
one call is his, a mercy call
and this, on bended knees
but who would break the rocky field
adn spread all through some fertile earth?
To You o Lord, a humble plea
Your floods of grace,
to stony hearts send.