PRAYER OF THE HUMBLE
Lord, evening comes again, and I beseech You.
No soul have I harmed other than my own,
and those who have harmed me are my own beloved.
I have accepted my own share of bitterness
and others’ too. Joy deserted me,
yet still I wait, knowing that to hope is sin.
I love the fear of the night like happiness,
though none knock at my door, only the wind.
I seek no glory, humble in everything I’ve done.
The rain’s song heard at dusk I have enjoyed,
to children I have given laughter and petting to the dogs,
the farmers I have welcomed returning from their toil.
Now nothing more have I to give or to retain,
nor do I expect reward: who could hope for that?
Oh Lord, grace me with my death, I pray.
Thank you for the plains and mountains that I’ve seen
Manolis Aligizakis 