The christ

A man approached me on the road
and he did not seem a good man-
his face was caked with earth and blood,
so were his long and browny hands,
and the tunic he wore was torn.
I feared him and escaped from him
and cast him fully out my mind:
I am your christ, your lover true,
the man kept calling from behind-
You called and I have come to you.
But I had thought my lord would come
dressed in true silk and gold brocade,
not in the garb of a homeless man,
beaten by life, and dispossessed.
What would you give me were you to stay
inside my house and I your host?
If you woul let me be with you
I ´d give your money and house away
yet you won´t weep for what you lost.
You´d have no country, race or name
and one snow flake picked of the air
would surely feed us and delight us both.