After years of begging
I expected him to be taller.
Is this the child that
Will free us?
Small weak and tired,
He doesn’t even struggle.
Perhaps he will grow
To become the strong man.
His weak flabby, arms will grow out
Of baby fat, into powerful bars of iron.
His limp legs now swing
Later they will run without end.
A carpenter’s son
Yes, that will make him strong.
Parents, proud parents, this joy
Will pierce you with sorrow.
As he raises and lifts,
He will change this nation.
Into a light, to be loved
And feared.
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