Thursday, July 16, 2015
I have gray-hued bones, old bones!
Bones plastered with thin flesh, and slow moving blood—
Under them, decay and death…
Wheels wear out, and bones wear away!
In youth I had ox bones!
In old age, brittle, —breakable, like wet old rafters:
Bit by bit to the end, then they’ll cave in.
Soon after, I’ll be put into a bowl with old fish—
But I shall not brood over times long past:
I have lived life, to its true purpose.
And well understood my own, though not great!
Yet, I have not abandoned God’s intent,
Though I’ve made many mistakes…now to be cleansed.