By: The Observer and Naa Doodua Doodu (The Little Observer)
He left the riches of the world behind.
To find his treasure in poverty.
Born to comfort, heir to gain,
He chose solitude over fame.
And peace over worldly care.
He loved creation as his own blood.
Called the sun his brother,
The moon is his sister.
And death, a sister too.
Life was no bed of roses, yet he sang with joy.
Miracles bloomed at his gentle touch.
Bread multiplied for the hungry crowd.
The sick found healing when he prayed.
He cast his bread upon the waters.
And it came back as mercy and grace.
Eight hundred years ago, he longed for the wounds,
The stigmata sealed his love without bound.
Pain became communion, suffering a song,
He bore the cross with a brave face
Walking the talk till the end of the road.
At the twilight of his earthly race,
He lay down with nothing but faith.
No silver spoon, no worldly crown,
Yet his spirit lit the world like wildfire.
He bowed out, leaving footprints in the sands of time.
Beautiful piece