"Portrait of a Man"

I was digging through a collection of old, scribbled-on papers (I never throw anything I wrote away), and found this little poem. I have no idea when I wrote it, but it was long enough ago that I have no memory of it. Fun! Doesn't seem quite finished, but I like it any way.

There was a man who laughed, and cried,
and loved, and held, and lost.
His life spent bearing others' loads,
He chose, and chose the frost.

In His voice the thunder rolled;
in His laughter sparrows sang.
In His eyes starts shone;
in His touch was healing rain.

A crowd of thousands came to hear,
and cheered Him to their aim.
A crowd of thousands came to peer,
and jeered Him in His pain.

A trial--a crown--a cross--
a road well paved in blood.
A hill--a hammer--a high-hung sign--
wind, and wet, and mud.