Ingratious was a sickling he had no inkling To thoughts rekindling Kindness shown to him Mercy that freely flowed That carried his flaws That bore his shame A great sacrifice Crowned with thorns He now frowns upon He could neither embrace Nor displace the light For it shone plainly With clarity With certainty Neither could he fail to ignore To hearken to the voice That spoke him free Blind and deaf He chose to be To ignore this great love This amazing grace Damned ingratious ‘he can do it on his own’ Damned ingratious he can’t save himself
for the joy of writing