I have been dressing myself
With oldest clothes
From the depths of my closet.
I have got behind with the washing,
And they are all that remains.
They do the trick, cover the essentials,
But they are not my best look!
Don’t let me get so behind, dear Lord,
With the washing of my sins.
It’s so easy to slip slowly away
Until one day, I look in the mirror,
And see a ragged reflection
Of what should be.
But these are the days
For putting on purple cloaks
Of a royal child,
Beautifully crafted shoes
A jewel-bright crown
To be worn with head held high.
Perhaps it’s time at long last,
To throw those old clothes out?