The Rich Young Ruler

babsonAfter his meeting with that rabbi, he

Walked home more slowly than usually.

His two valets kept quiet at his side.

He looked over his shoulder, once, twice but

Did not turn around.  He would not do it.

What fool would do such a thing, in his place?

He wondered why he could not laugh at it.

He sighed, “Another charlatan,” and yet –

Back home, the servant knelt at his feet, poured

Water in silver, unhooked his sandals.

His mother, at her embroidery, asked

The answer that man gave to his question.

He said nothing, just watched the needle flash

As she threaded its narrow eye once more.


The poet lives in South Park, Pa.

Posted in: November 2015: Books and Pop Culture, Poetry

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