Zacchaeus

As publicanruled by emperor ego,I pursued my duty:checked each pilgrim's progress,exacted taxes due—criticism's revenue (sometimes more)—amid roars of protest,and yet I felt no richer than before.

Burdened by the unjust weightsI placed on others' properties,sick of more when more was less,I was driven up a tree.Secretly, in the closet of my leaves,I prayed for decency. Writhing,I repented, and confessed I soughta lighter occupation, a sweeter rest.

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
The giving that counts most
June 27, 1988
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit