I have thrown my silken sorts in the streets,
thus I’m accursed by my parents and friends.
I wish I was a straw of the manger to warm Him,
a tree bowing in front of Him as a fourth King,
a shepherd fetching milk to the Holy Family.
When the son of the billionaire man was killed *
he admitted he was the poorest man on earth.
I, Francis the poor man, donate you a rich rain **
and here are the creatures foretelling its coming:
the cockerel and owl from early the previous night,
the frog when it jumps, the pig when it rolls,
the pigeon when it dives into the pits of water,
the swallow when it flies above our heads.
Let us enter uterus and be reborn as innocent,
by dying we can trample underfoot the death;
we, the mighty poets with weak fingers and legs,
let us hold the skull with our punctured palms,
preach to animals and birds and chant with them.
Can you live without gold? Then you can float.
Can you wear rags? They’ll be wings helping you fly.
By forgiving others, you gain forgiveness for yourself,
if you are dressed in rags you’ll reign mightily
in an era when gold doesn’t dominate at all.
© JosephJosephides
Thank you Joseph, this poems shines a brighter light pertaining to clearer perspective...a beautiful write...10/10
Yes, this is the poem I am looking for. Thanks dear Joseph.
there's much in depth meaning in the poem best wishes.................... keep on writing.
It is easy to see how difficult it is to write poetry in English when it is not one's first language. Nevertheless, the imagery and meaning of this Franciscan ode both come through very well. Lovely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful and touching