Cloth of Gold Silk Satin Spirituality

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Saint Francis hit the nail right smack upon

Its head.  He sloughed off everything, not just

His clothes before his town.  He spread a dawn

Of righteousness.  He left our grasping, cussed

It mildly like a virgin in her cell

Beside the other nuns.  His nudeness forced

A shock to Christendom from lowest hell

To papal heaven.  Resurrection coursed

Through vicars down to lepers.  Velvet shed

Away, revealed the nakedness of truth.

His pubic hair and buck bare hips caused shred

Of normal morals.  Christ came back as youth.

  We all must go a-begging if we hold

    Possessions sacred.  He sewed up high gold.