Classic Poem

Master , this very hour,
Under this village sky,
Between two thieves You go,
To die.

About our separate work,
Ever we come and pass;
One Pilate; Andrew one;
One scarlet Caiaphas.

Peter stoops to his bulbs,
Under a kitchen pane;
And James halts there to talk
Of day's luck, field or rain.

Along some brambly wall,
Where orange haws burn hot,
His thirty coins held fast,
Goes dark Iscariot.