I am not perfect
But I will be someday
My rough edges sanded off
My blemishes removed

Like an old piece of wood
Washed by the sea
I will be made clean
And more beautiful than I could have imagined

Knowing this sometimes
Makes it harder to
See the marks and still know
They will not be permanent

But I raise my eyes
Set them toward the sun
Rising clear
Bursting forth on a cold winter's day

And as the sparkling snow
Hits my eyes
I feel some of my burdens
Slowly rise.

(theinkthatspeaks.blogspot.com)