An old cloth

An old cloth sits by the water spout
It is worthless
But it gathers water in the basin
The woman uses it daily
To cool her head
To clean the jars
To water the spices
She squeezes it over the mouths of the sheep
If it is dry, she will not use it

I am like the old cloth
I too am worthless
I gather the waters of life
I am full
In the hands of the master
My blessings will pour over