Ash upon my fragile brow,
A silent prayer, a sacred vow.
From dust I came, to dust return,
Yet still for heaven’s light I yearn.
Not marked by shame, but marked by grace,
A cross of love upon my face.
In death of self, new life is found
Where mercy speaks without a sound.
Through desert dry and hearts laid bare,
God meets His children kneeling there.
And from the ashes, hope will rise,
Like dawn breaking through darkened skies.
MARYANN BOSAH 