Finite mind, memory mess,
And trains that ran away,
Out of my grasping hands,
Screeching at my bated breath,

Crosses to the naughts,
I seem to play a game,
Be the fool, demands,
Yet to a draw its brought,

Great mystery divine,
Mercy abundant in
The ways you answer prayer,
With gracious wit you hold the time,

And humble us just as we ask,
And humble us just as we don't.