To Be White Again

Life at its beginning is white for all Cleanly and perfect- singular in design Warm fed and comfortable But life through the ages tarnishes the white Sometimes as sudden as a bucket of black paint Drenched and permeated and you soak for days You try to get white and clean but There remains the tail-tell signs of grays and blues Creviced in the minds and hearts of all who were in your studio Friends acquaintances family and strangers Know and see the tartered canvas of white More often than not a white with blotch So who can make me white again “Not be the hairs of my chinny chin-chin” What can make me white again “Nothing but the blood of Jesus”