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Coming Clean
May 1, 2008
The rain drops down, gentle as breeze
Head tilted skyward, welcoming.
I cry out loud, “Cleanse me, please!”
It softly calls back, “Patience my child, I’m coming.”
Heat tilted skyward, welcoming.
The rain washes away specks of dirt on my soul.
It softly calls back, “Patience my child, I’m coming.”
To be born again, that’s my goal
The rain washes away specks of dirt on my soul.
I cry out loud, “Cleanse me, please!”
To be born again, that’s my goal.
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