The Boy and The Palace

Gazing at the palace,

The little child crept

Out of the dirty street.

Where he once had slept.

Looking gave him comfort,

His needs demanded more.

A spark of hope ignited,

He dared approach the door.

Waiting for the answer,

He almost turned and fled,

Ashamed by dirty garments;

The dirt upon his head.

Now the door wide opened,

The child felt a peace.

For the one who answered

Brought him to his knees.

With her eyes so gentle,

The Lady looked on him

Past the dirt and bruises,

She knew where he had been.

She bent then raised the child

And pressed him to her breast

Not fearing that his filth

Might stain her queenly dress.

She washed and bathed the child,

And freshly dressed his wounds

Even then, more promised,

He should the King see soon!

His wounds, though cleanly dressed,

Recalled to him his past,

"How would the King of all

See me who should be last?"

The gentle Queen, she smiled

And led him to the court,

Past those who did rejoice

For him, now free from hurts.

Now, once into the court,

The boy fell down in awe,

Such splendor and such glory, 

The poor boy never saw.

The King began to speak

(voice warming to the bones)

Bade the child come to

Him and sit upon His throne.

The boy then kissed His feet

And cried of praise and thanks.

He wept with sheer relief

And joy, knowing darkness past.