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Poem

A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is humble and serene,
As we display, a brand new leaf,
He celebrates the scene.

He knows the name of everyone,
Who stops to say hello,
Because, He radiates the sun,
And purifies the snow.

He rains upon the famished earth,
A warm and welcome shower,
Because, He knows, a humble birth,
Reflects, a higher power.

His treasure is a broken heart,
A virtue of the meek,
Because, He knows, a humble start,
Will help you turn the cheek.

He magnifies, our righteousness,
By how we serve the poor,
And when the flock is hungry less,
The appetite is more.

A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is stronger by the mile,
Because the source of His relief,
Is longer by the smile.

We do not know, and cannot tell,
What pain we put him through,
And yet, we know, the mercy bell,
Is what he offers you.

You may not recognize the man,
As someone you should sing,
And yet, we know His master plan,
Is worthy of a King.

I marvel by the greater light,
Of one who leads the way,
Who bled for me to win the right,
To rise above the fray.

A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is with me when I walk,
To shepherd me in my belief,
And join me in His flock.

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