Ash Wednesday Poem by Alexandrian Ink

Pilgrim souls, passionate pilgrims
Singing high ancient solemn hymns;
Of man faring to his cradle home,
Go oh clay from whence thou came.
Why should I boast, since I am but dust?
Except in you Oh God to lay my full trust,
That my sins you will wholly wash
As you touch me with this holly ash
Of life of nullity and worths nought,
Save that the clay has been bought
By the blood of the crucified love
So that we with Him we'll gently move.
Give me the grace Lord, remold my tainted clay,
That you with me, and I with you upon this day
Will follow your desert road, shoulder my cross,
And whatsoever I may lose, will not be a loss
Since you Oh Lord is everything
That is worth beyond possessing.
Man, corrupt component of aggregate manure
By a breath substantially made a new
Thou art dust, putrid clay, besmirched dust,
Sully make-up of the earths crust
Unto this dust, you will certainly descend;
Pilgrim souls, so will our lives here end.
Thou Oh Lord, once more, once more
With this ash heal our deadly sore.

Ali Alexon