By Stephen Ritchie
He is on a colt, not a stallion,
And they are shouting praises, laying palms.
Crowds urge the holy king to carry on,
While the teachers try to get them to be calm.
He is David’s blessed descendant
And their hero, ready to conquer Rome.
At His response, some are left indignant,
But Jesus rides to give outcasts a home.
He was born, and laid in a manger,
And now he now leads a band of misfits.
He has no home, but calls home the stranger,
Whether fisherman, drunkard or Zealot.
He loves like Father running to the prodigal,
And the righteous brother finds it too radical.
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