No Paean For Him Poem by Paddy J. P. Harris

No paean or pageant, no doleful rhyme,
No fey divination or light hearted jibe.
No verse should ever be sung of Him.
A wraith, a shadow, a tasteless wind.
So let us forget Him. He’s not worth a thought
From men that are loved and whose hearts are warm.

Do we mourn each weed that withers and dies
Under the black shade of the leaden sky?
It grew in the dark. Was of use to none,
And those who it touched were usually stung.

A petty sting, not really a pain,
Just enough to make us turn away
And tend the plot that provides the fruit,
Or the flowers that smile in the summer noon.

So its green turned to grey, and it shrivelled to the Earth,
With a falling sigh that was never heard.
With a gloved hand and a tut we threw it in flame,
And let its dust be lost in the wind and the rain.
A nuisance that lived without a use or cause
That any ought to care for or to mourn.

But He was a man, not a weed in the waste.
No wind, no shadow, no wraith. A Man.