I was stripped of my rind
Then discarded
I was a forsaken matter
The type you find in the refuse
With malodorous neigbours
And the songs of the flies
Dampened and depraved
I thought that was the best I could be
I wore my guilt and shame
Like a brocade embroided with doom
I lived each day –
Let tomorrow bring its fury
The King found me. Twas His light? Yes
It exposed my weakness
He dug me from the refuse
The adjoining muck He washed off – all by Himself
He gave me a new joy
The type the world cannot comprehend
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