The Christ Child wore a seamless robe
that soldiers dared not tear.
They stole instead and gambled for,
since they could never share.
The Christ Child wore a thorny crown
that soldiers improvised,
to curse and crush and cruelly mock
the holy they despised.
The Christ Child wore a human skin
that soldiers beat and tore.
Then in his sweet, seraphic face
they scoffed and spat and swore.
The Christ Child’s shoes were worn and old,
but soldiers trick was neat.
They nailed them on with Roman steel,
wed wood to sandalled feet.
The Christ Child wore, on Christmas day,
a smile so sweet and shy,
like all the holy innocents
they dare to crucify.