No eternal trumpet cleft the air,
no planet stopped its sullen course
to gaze in wrath and vengeance; only this—
a man of goodness died.
Conscience was his guide and God
who saw his golden spring coiled taut
to justice, saw intention and desire
flower for a while in action and the promise
of an action, saw his failure
as the necessary flaw of man.
He makes the sun come up on good
and evil, sends the rain and snow;
hardly strange then He allows for apples,
stables, bullets: everything is perfect
in its time. And time is His.
One does not lightly strike down God’s anointed.
For him a shot perfected spring
and hope of spring, fulfilled desire,
cleared his eyes to vision: light forever.
But for the world, darkness.
God sees, allows, and loves
in ways we do not ripely understand.
Let mankind hobble home now on its knees.
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