He rode on a lowly beast
jugging through the ancient streets
wearing smiles on his cheeks
trampling on garments and leaves
All he said was good
men’s ears itched for more
if he’d danced to their tune
laurel wreaths would have graced his skull

A dozen grouped with him to sup
but sunk quietly into their shells
and filled the hall with sighs

When the whole world went to sleep
coarse hands rumpled the fragile lamb
to sundry on a cursed stake
and moisten the earth with royal sap
and barter his life for their sake

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