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  • Writer's pictureAncient Paths

The Last Ride of Jesus


by Bob Schildgen

He rode downtown with quite an entourage.

They sounded, well, straight out of Galilee.

At first he turned his head as if to dodge

the crowd’s acclaim, and squeals of ecstasy,

but mostly rode just staring, looking blank,

though now and then his big dark eyes would blaze,

or he’d reach down to pat the donkey’s flank,

or wave at vendors in a marketplace.

He got off once, and scribbled on the ground,

and gazed up at the palace carapace,

then finally smiled, absorbing all the sound,

spread wide his arms, returned the crowd’s embrace.

And some opined it would have been quite splendid

if at this point the story simply ended.

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