Milk is left over from the calves. Water is left over from the fishes, flowers from the bees. How can I worship you, O Siva, with such offal? But it's not for me to despise left-overs, so take what comes, lord of the meeting rivers.
(Basavanna; translated by A.K. Ramanujan)
the eke, the partial eke, and naught except,
jumps out from
the river dwindling away resource manage
-ment for
naught; wait a little, friend, say a prayer in
solitude, give
some time, the sting of the sun is about to
nestle in any
time now.
Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 
I like this poem. The title is excellent and the way you use your words is lovely.
Thank you Jean. The bulk of the credit of course goes to Basavanna’s original and Ramanujan’s wonderfully modern translation.