THE WINGMAN
The ebon jackdaw flew down and sat
Upon a sign, atop a tree
Whereon was writ, in languages three
“Of Jews, I Am The KING”; just that.
Feathers not preening, head looked not ‘round,
Its caws and cackles quite o’erthrown
By guttural gasp and gentle moan,
By the blood dripping onto the ground.
The scoffers rude at His feet stood,
While beyond His comrades wept,
Then with final groan these words escaped:
“It is finished,” then He slept.
‘pon hearing that, the ‘daw took His wing,
As Jesus’ spirit skyward leapt…
Mark Teague