How can you think of Christ without a sob?
Dropped like a beast in a foul nest of straw,
Forced, as a boy, with hammer, pliers, saw
To slave away at a woodworker's job,
A youth, he walked the world with grumbling maw,
Preaching the word to a disdainful mob,
A man, he had a price upon his nob,
And Judas sold him to the Roman law.
The spit, the lash, the doom, the thorny crown,
The nails, the cross, the vinegar-soaked rag
Tied to a pole, the diced-for bloody gown:
All burdens fell upon him, sacred bag
Of bones – hence the old saying handed down:
Flies always settle on a spavined nag.