Sunday, April 01, 2007

A Palm Sunday Poem Draft

Colt of an Ass

I am nothing special, only an ass.
I bear my Lord through Zion's gates.
They sing empty Hosannas,
spread their cloaks on the earth,
wave fronds of palms in triumph
as prayers to their imaginations.
They barely see me,
but in all this crowd
I alone serve the one they hymn.

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