The
Mule
Purple, purple,
Purple, pink,
In evergreen
The candles sink.
Candle’s age?
One thousand yeared,
With four four-thousand
‘Fore He appeared.
Each Sunday four
In front of Yule
When she arrived
Upon a mule.
A revolution
Round the stall,
Till suddenly
On knees were all!
Like priest incensing
Hallowed altar
To bear her Son
All kneel, none falter.
Firm, determined,
Burdened-beast
With veins of gold,
Great stubborn priest!
Hilary M. Flanery