I was…. naked, and ye clothed me. Matthew 25:36.
The beggar shivering by a road in Picardy
did not look up. The Roman drew his sword.
Half the cloak was Caesar’s. Half was charity.
In the sleeping garrison while only sentries stirred,
the Roman dreamed the weave of his humanity
wrapped about the shoulders of his Lord.
*
Long Novembers later, weak with soul’s infirmity
and limping inwardly, a suppliant came
in search of love to dignify his poverty.
An intercessor fell in step. They shared a name.
Cloaked with compassion, warmed by sanctity,
need was befriended at the brazier of festal flame.
Martin Briggs is the son of an English Methodist minister, but has been exposed to and influenced by Catholic thinking and culture all his life. He began writing seriously after retiring from a career in public administration, since when his work has appeared in Areopagus, The Dawntreader and Reach Poetry. He lives with his wife in Suffolk, England.