By J Ann Crowder

Dear “least of these”
I am oft so kind, I pray
Tho some not so kind, I shutter should I not turn my cheek
It’s hard to do
It’s hard to let the heart not grow angry
It’s hard to let a gnawing pain in my chest go
Sometimes I’d rather it shred me through
But anger only feeds a bitter, hollow end
I’ve no longing to feed it
Dear “least of these”
I’ve no longing to be counted among those on a high and spacious field
They are glorious with glories only worldly tokens can give
Of praise, outer beauty, status, and charms
I’ve no desire for their fruitless field lacking of bees and lavender nectar
I want to dip my feet in cold, simple streams and sleep on pillows sewn by Mother Earth
Only ordinary hearts appreciate ordinary riches and treasures spilling like yellow painted daffodils on rolling hills
Only ordinary hearts bask in bleeding, purple tides on distant mountains looming towards heaven
I want to be with those who have humble eyes and contrite souls, who bask in Mother Earth
They are perceived ordinary next to worldly designs of perfection and nobility
Little do those worldly perfections know, designs pure are created with souls noble by hearts kind
Like children inherently noble, humble and kind
They are least in the sight of worldly eyes
Least noble, only noblest by virtue of Godly design
This is where I long to be
I long to be with commoners in pits digging, with scars on our backs
In suffering thus made noble and kind
With scared backs
By stripes and scars thus beautifully arrayed
Not with diamonds or rich cloth dressing us
Only Skylight pure dresses kind hearts like lilies adorned in streaming beds of light
I’d like to toil with those lilies in clay
I’d like to cry with them and watch our sultry tears flood oceans
I don’t want to dance with superficial stars
I want to see real stars hanging on invisible strings, shining  underneath a blackened cloak
I want to walk with ordinary souls who are above all extraordinary
I float in between a lofty beam and a lowly stable
I touch a crossroads
I shun trails smooth and long to cross terrible thresholds of plight and pain as I reach for a manger, simple and lowly
Alas, I almost touch straw and can smell stable animals sweetly tinged by burning dust
A shepherds kingly crown is a stary night sky
Lowly birth, in a stable
Not lowly at all
Because there is no greater crown than God’s stary sky
This is where I long to walk
With “The least of these”
With travails sore and crowning stars, not least at all
At last, more grand and grander than all

Inspired by a scripture verse. Written April 3rd 2016.

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Charlotte B. Williams
almost 5 years

No He was not the least although it seemed that way. He was really the greatest of the great . Your're a very talented writer.

almost 5 years

This poem mesmerizes. Thanks for sharing.

Tim Crowder
almost 5 years

I love this, it is one of my favorites by far thank you for all of the beautiful words

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