a poem in my pocket

swaddled baby lay in stone manger

boy grows skills as carpenter mason

learns plumb, rule, chisel from father

is tempted to turn stones into bread

but will not live on devil’s hard tack

rabbi whets hunger of discipled hearts

prompts petra’s rock solid profession

weeps on palm littered road into city

children and stones cry out his praises

but hard hearted crowds yell “crucify!”

he stumbles with cross on same pavers

as suffering hones his mission’s passion

earth quakes, rocks split, he yields spirit

wrapped body lay in stone cold tomb

he leaves grave clothes folded on slab

now actively quarries with measured cuts

to raise new temple built of living stones