The Cross

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Upon the icon’s countenance
There danced refulgent light.
Below it knelt a humble man
Who prayed throughout the night.

Before the misty veil of dawn,
In radiance of white,
An angel gently led the man,
Whose sore soul quaked in fright,
Into a room most Beautiful…
In answer to his plight-
Release from trials sorrowful…
Life’s loads beyond his might!

The angel bade the man to choose
From walls of endless height,
One of the crosses hanging there,
To give his soul respite.
A thousand crosses beckoned him…
His lot he could rewrite!

He chose the smallest
Cross of all, and tried to look polite.
Beneath the angel’s piercing gaze
The mortal’s mind was troubled
And in essence grew contrite.

From all the crosses in the room
Chose he, his heart’s delight.
Yet, behold! This WAS the very Cross,
From which he yearned his flight.

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