EPITAPH

            Who am I supposed to be
            Someone who is full of fruit
            Full of love, compassionate
            Always in a mood to suit
            Have I laboured twenty years
            Giving all to be refined
            Surely something deep has changed
            If not in body, then in mind.

            I am still controlled by me
            Things have worsened, I admit
            I have nowhere else to go
            Thrashing in a lowly pit
            This is where He wants me at
            He's the only hope I have
            Take this selfish, wasted child
            Change my sorry epitaph.