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.