Fifty-five

I once saw a cross so big
It was as high as the church
In front of which it stood,
It was made of railroad steel
And it was very dramatic,
And I was moved
And I was impressed
As I walked by and away from it.

I once saw a cross so lovely,
It was a work of art,
Carved and polished
It was made to look
Both strong and delicate,
And I was moved
And I was impressed
As I walked by and away from it.

There once was a cross
Not so high; not so lovely
It was not a work of art.
Rough, full of splinters
Uneven, unsymmetrical
Its simple mystery
Unfathomable.
And I cannot walk by it
And I cannot walk away from it.