There was a wise and brilliant man;
For him, God had a special plan.
His wives, his friends conquered his soul,
His heart to God, the impure stole.
Intents he had, enraged our Lord,
Claimed by death, not taken by sword,
sake, God left a tribe,
Jotted down by a Hebrew scribe.
Here comes our savior, all so pure;
Angels sing of our Godly cure.
Their voices elegantly ring
With praises to the new born king.
As word was spreading wonders grew;
The wicked opposed
one so true.
Betrayed, and soon condemned to death,
But he forgave with his last breath.
© 2008 Ethan Fogg
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