“A SEAMLESS ROBE!” Tuesday, January 30th: 2018.
Here’s a quaint, fashion story, from long, long ago,
‘Bout-a-crucified-man, He-is one we all know!
Paid Roman soldiers impaled him well,
On the dark Hill of Skulls, to send him to Hell.
They cast-lots for his garment – it was all that he had,
They called IT his “Robe,” but – don’t be too sad,
THE ROBE was NOT tattered, and it had a clear shine,
His Mother had made it – seamless and fine.
When he was a youth, she had spun yarn with care –
To make his first garment, flawless and fair.
And her-son wore it ALWAYS – next to his skin,
he wore it with pride – and he often did grin,
When he said: “This, my garment – no seams does it show;
It was made by my mother – that’s-why it does glow!
And I’ll surely wear it, ‘til the day that I die!
I’ll wear it to Heaven; from Hell, I shall fly –
For-I’ve broken Hell’s gate, that obscures souls and hearts,
These threads, they will shimmer – despite thorns and darts!”