On my knees, I lay fallen at your feet

A single feather; stem broken, loosing its feathers one by one to the breeze  

The slightest shift in the direction of the wind,

Will see me wiped out

My existence is dependent on the grace of your kindness; the shelter to be found within it, should you chose to extend it

A choice that will stand you out to be a god among men, 

Without the deserving wide praise or fame by all;

Save for the gratitude of a single humble soul, 

That is me

In this age of being seen to be everything and nothing,

Will that suffice?