They whisper you're really the Son of God,
so why would you pay heed to me?
I'm worthy of nothing,
a low tax-collector...
why would you then notice me,
here in this sycamore tree?
I might catch a glimpse out on this limb.
The crowd is agog, much hue and cry.
But for one moment, it seems time was frozen
as you walked by.
You caught sight of me
in that sycamore tree,
spoke out my name as a friend.
It was me, Zaccheus you addressed,
with recognition I was blessed.
I will follow you now to the end.
© 2018 cherryk
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