Today Jesus rides in triumph
through a rain of flowers
to his kingdom, on Brother Ass,
humble and holy, simple and true.
Every day he rides still into his own
on Brother Ass, Brother Body,
the patient, grumbling root
of every spiritual flowering.
Who can find Jesus without Brother Ass to help her?
Who can be real whose Brother Ass has strayed?
Brother, you deserve fine flowers of cherry,
snowdrifts of apple-blossom, to welcome
this Easter king in his holiness.
I like thistles, mumbles Brother Ass,
Yum-yum, thank you. Can you see
my rider now? Yum-yum, thank you.
tRuth 2019
St Francis used to refer to his body as Brother Ass. Towards the end of his life he asked pardon of Brother Ass for having behaved so harshly towards it by his overzealous asceticism.
poem prayer silence 