Sh . . . Sh . . . Don’t tell – this starts the game.
At finished line, “me” ends in shame.
Mostly a “sham”, no thoughts can tame,
Unless exposed, becomes my name.
The aim within, though letters changed,
A dart of self-reflex arranged.
To shield from this, its piercing blow,
We look at Him, Who long ago
Looked down at shame from His own cross,
Dispelled the shame at His own cost.