Poem for Palm Sunday

HERO

The air is fanned with feather fronds,

The ground is strewn with boughs,

A makeshift carpet tells the way

And straightened path avows

I go surefooted as a goat

Upon the mountain heights,

My precious cargo is a Lamb

Prepared for sacrifice

I know I am a stubborn beast,

A lissom colt untrained,

My pilgrim rides as we are one,

My back is never strained

The sun beats down, my tongue is parched,

A mirage slakes the eye,

To go the second mile with Him,

The mirage does not lie

The cry of jubilation swells,

The crowds love a parade,

Their conquering hero comes to free

Those mighty Rome enslaved

And is this whom my forebears shared

Their stable crude and stark,

When heav'n bowed down to gather earth

And radiant light quelled dark?

He goes towards his destiny

Where brutal malice stings,

And history will ever tell

I bore the King of Kings!

©RosyCole2009