The Branches and the Cloaks
So people of the troubled earth,
My face kept shadowed have I
Yet active care forsaken not have I.
To the vagabonds
And to the watchful
My Son sent I
Who once was welcomed
By the idea of branches
Cut by intent and then surrendered—
And by the idea of cloaks
Unbound and surrendered.
Not the trees, but the branches
Resemble the work
Of the hands of people themselves.
Beyond the branch, the cloaks
Surrendered
Entreat My Son for cloaks beyond—
The wrappings lived in
As time tarried
Served among the hands.
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