You were blind, dear Antipas,
And, like a mother's love,
Tenderly it opened your eyes.
You saw.
And, then, as at a mother's breast,
It suckled you and grew you
Into a son.

This unexpected grace
Overcame you,
And you, who were without hope,
Knew hope, sure and certain.
This tender grace
Made a man of you.

And good thing it was.
For it raised a storm, this gentle grace,
And the mob came to see
That storm kill you.

Before the Father they roasted you.
And you took it, dear Antipas,
And, counting yourself blessed,
He took you.

mike frank
© 2006