His martyr’s necklace was dangling
Like a Jesus Chain as he moved
Through the streets, reviled and reproved
Like a Fisher of Men, angling.
It was I who refused to move–
I stopped, decaying in my dream;
He rose up. The violent stream
Watched as he began to improve.
He didn’t answer my query.
This was but one–one–of three times
He saw me, absolving my crimes.
His beard so close, his eyes leery.
I remember how the lion felt;
Wrapped in wisdom, with locks profound
And a growl enough to astound–
I felt like John wrapped in his pelt.
Three truths sprinkled under one roof
Peppered with Grace, peppered to taste;
Leopard with haste, shepherd so chaste,
Peace be to you, my man, my proof.