Suckling from a grand mind

Little words come from big minds
Good ones aren't that hard to find
The return of the paints
A picture in three strokes I can paint
But my words are like ants today
Scattering everywhere then reaching home
But straying from the point
In need of ointment
To gel the blood to my exposed knee
Then a mild cup of honey tea
Is that all the milk I can take
Before I think this poem is a big mistake?
God's mission is so subtle
Like an edited poem making us full