As you pack my bags, Mom
Wrap an ounce of Faith too,
The One You have in me.
For there are times,
When you are not around.
There's dusk, twilight and
Gloom
And that innocent bud fears to
Bloom.
Darkness keenly creeps in
And sunshine witfully shys away.
Goodness faints and
Wickedness prevails.
I begin to stumble and fumble.
I (unfortunately) begin to resemble
All but myself.
Then I shall secretly open my bags
And cling on to that ounce of faith.
I tell you Mom...
I tell you, for sure
I will emerge a stronger being
That day
I will be myself
That day...