The Humble Way

No robe of purple
To swathe his shoulders,
No crown of gold & gems
To wreathe his head,
Our king rode lowly in
Upon a plain she-ass’s foal
While a tide of prideful clamor surged
About the sand adorning filthy feet.

No brutish claws or jaws
To slay his enemies,
No mane, no muscled mien
Primed by forays in the fields,
Our lion of Judah’s tribe, meek
As a prey, soon would feel the flint
Now poised by highest priests to slay
Him whose blood their soiled souls
Alone could cleanse.

No shields or spears
Laid up in hoard for conquest,
No martial gear or strategies
To launch his empire’s age,
Our captain stripped himself down
To the covering of a slave-towel
Pantomiming how he stooped
From the height no rocket could reach.

No more miracles
To signify his source,
No more parables
To mystify or make plain,
Our teacher bowed to a loathsome place
Of no self-respecting man, to cleanse
Naked, filthy, sinful feet, then walked
Up a hill like a hollow skull
To wash and save us all.

MNA
8/11/19