By Kathryn J. Foster

Once at the temple's-gate Beautiful,
At about the hour of prayer,
Came Peter and John quite dutiful,
The lame man, as always, was there.

Lame from birth, he knew where to ask alms,
Daily at the gate he was laid,
Peter and John saw his outstretched palms,
Knew this man expected their aid.

'Twas silver and he expected,
For his real need he dared not ask,
Those weak anklebones, long neglected,
Might accomplish their intended task.

Peter and John that day had no gold,
No silver, or rich worldly stock,
But so much more had they to unfold,
That the lame man rose up to walk.

Leaping for joy, the lame man praised God,
Crowds were amazed in that hour,
Yet today still, we ask for a pod,
When God would give us the flower.

Published in 1997 in "Images of Time" by the Poetry Institute of Canada
Previously in the 70's in North Bay Nugget, Ont. Later in the Woodstock Bugle.