I was born of a wicked root long past,
and little of that day I should now know,
but to my own father I came at last
and sad recognition his face did show.
This revealed that which I was unaware:
adopted into royal care and love,
I’d grown and thrived in wholesome garden air
and was fed by those gladsome rays above.
Adoptive father, lover, truest friend,
my Lord gave ever of his ample store
and washed me of the filth, my life to mend,
when doffed with afterbirth upon the floor.
Deserted was I when a helpless babe
deserving naught, to this poor one he gave.
—
And gave and gave his fathomless, dear grace
to she whose passing none would think to note.
Of all I was most blessed to view his face
and in his house and arms be called his own.
From babe to girl to woman fair matured.
Hips wide, waist thin, breasts full of youth and health.
No one but my sweet groom could honor more
what lesser men would try to buy and sell.
To this wicked commerce I strange felt drawn.
Though warmth and good security betray,
I left the verdant green of my Lord’s lawn
to lust after whatever that I may.
Like horses’ were the members I did seek
and soon like these dirty beasts I did reek.
—
Those unblinded by sin like mine will see
the wickedness of such sin stripped bare,
but we afflicted by selfish pride be
blind to our faults and never self-aware.
My own I thought I was and all was mine
Though nothing of my own I ever had.
My Lord provided all, good food and wine.
Hope to sustain myself was all but mad.
Just so, I stole from coffers full of gold
and the cradles of my Lord’s nursery.
Blood of our babes I sacrificed and sold,
used his name and credit through forgery.
No slut, no whore could boast a thing this vile.
My Lord restrained his righteous wrath meanwhile.
—
The blazes of passion I could not slake,
but who’s to call wrong that which I desire?
Who is to blame when womanhood awakes?
Who’d dare squelch that inborn, natural fire?
My flower bloomed in new independence.
Sweet fragrance drifted on the summer breeze.
Here floral notes from what my Lord had lent,
here naked sex unveiled but still at ease.
Those unacquainted with blessings cried, “Shame!”
for they know not the value of these hips.
They’ve never played the harlot’s dangerous game,
never dripped men’s desire on their lips.
My Lord would blush to see how I had grown,
but wouldn’t, I guessed, recall this stolen loan.
—
Recall he did, recall all favor that
hitherto sat upon my golden head.
Bountiful grace, like hounds, returned at
its master’s call and left my pillowed bed.
My pillowed bed sat in the market square.
For convenience I slept where I employed
and sold my body, sex, and other wares.
I wished to be somewhere my Lord avoids.
But absence most acute I knew when he
removed his grace from I who’d known naught else.
As if I rested all life on his lee,
when shelter gone with rain, sleet, hail was pelt.
Independence it was that I had sought.
With all good gone I knew what freedom bought.
—
He gave me my desire, gave me full
all that I thought to gain and much besides.
My Lord would never suffer my joint-rule.
Instead he gave me me as a blind guide.
In my blindness I would not ever know
my naked shame displayed for all the town.
Disgrace instead of my Lord’s grace I showed
Imperial foolishness my only gown.
He opened my eyes when wicked men glared.
Only then did I think to cover quick.
My Lord’s good, pure and right, I thought to share,
but drug it through the filth. It made me sick.
My father, brothers, sisters, mother near,
some cried, some laughed, some scorned, some swooned, some leered.
—
I know now the cloth from which I was cut.
My life does hang stained, threadbare, worn, and limp.
Alone I have no more worth than the mud.
Loved by God the fabric of my life rips.
With the fresh breath and vigor of new wine
Tear through this old cocoon of sinful wrong.
Fill me with the presence of the divine.
Fill me with the words of heavenly songs.
My shameful deeds weigh heavy on my head.
In the presence of God I can’t look up.
His love twice raised me from among the dead.
He drank full draughts so I could pass the cup.
In spite of me the Lord shines on my face.
Those who’ve received the promise lack no grace.