Written for Palm Sunday.
No victor’s entry this. And one must bide
one’s mount I suppose: it might have been worse.
At least the fellow’s uncomplaining, and a horse
would have been seen as pride.
The throngs gratify, though what understanding
they have must be left to conjecture or the ages:
do they know what this coming presages?
Six days to a crucifixion, palms notwithstanding.