Snow-White Squeaky-Clean


My clothes used to be stained with chimney soot, ebony dust. 
Forbearance led my footsteps, craving lust. 
Greed was my bedstead. Get rich never bust! 
Mind was cankered with sores of repulsive rust. 
 
I craved the life of a playboy on the nightly prowl. 
Nights I could stalk or just drunkenly howl, 
Lost in Satanís chamber deep in his bowel, 
Never willing to throw in the towel. 
 
One day a dedicated evangelist taught me the meaning of demean, 
How ill I was, dismal future was my scene. 
Jesus forgave me for the things; I had done so mean. 
Now my soul is snowy-white, squeaky-clean. 

Dorothy E. Scott  poetry99@txol.net
Copyrighted 2001 

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