Arend Lee Jessurun

I’m the grass without shade. 
I’m the flower that fades. 
I’m the leaf passed away in the fall. 

I’m a wandering man. 
I’m a wilderness land. 
I’m the clay in your hands, I’m the soil. 

So clothe me 
in the dew of the morning. 
Let the waters adorn me, 
as I’m being made new. 

Remold me 
let the hands of time hold me. 
I get tired of the old me,
but I’m being made new. 

I’m a flicker, a flame. 
I’m a taper untamed. 
I’m the wax burned away at the hours. 

I’m a verse without song. 
I’m less right than I’m wrong. 
I’m the wait of a long, long, long time. 

So clothe me  
in the dew of the morning.  
Let the waters adorn me,  
as I’m being made new.  

Remold me  
let the hands of time hold me.  
I get tired of the old me, 
but I’m being made new. 

I’m closer.
Everytime I get older, 
I wish I could start over. 
What’s it like to be new? 

I’m going 
where the wildflowers are growing, 
as a seed for the sowing. 
I am being made new.