Nothing like the old one
Gone are the ragged locks,
the disheveled robe
His weathered, withered skin.
In place of bones
There hang, jewels of sweat
Clinging to suntanned pecs
I like how he makes me feel
As I watch him pour life into beings
that hang, fragile and frightened.
They way he encourages them
Helps them fulfill their potential
in a way that only he can.
I admire the warm glow of his presence.
The smile he brings to my lips when near.
Miraculous tricks, yielding better results
– than the old Jesus.
Though I can’t understand
Why my husband doesn’t like the new gardener