A Psalm (From Son to Mother)

Short poem from a son to his ailing mother.

It's a sin to sell you soul
To indulgent satisfaction,
To where in ways most utterly foul,
You bestow no benefaction.

It's a sin to remain healthfully living
To die so utterly lowly--
To take for granted what you've been given,
To pass away so tragically, so slowly.

It's a sin to speak of self-salvation
And, in the end, capitulate;
For to bear hypocrisy is of deninite damnation,
And to never again with Him negotiate.

But as a soul, unadulterated and pure,
Whose body's yet woefully ailing;
On this day, know of your birth, and assure
The birth of your new life never failing.