We all have heard the story
But we all thought at once that it was unreal
We all live in the same world he lives in
But whom among us would believe in it?
The story of how the cub we all saw grow
Became the king lion no one can control
Who dares to not believe his testimony?
A young cub from the fourth pride
And the last child of eight sons
Born to be his father's boy
While the sons went to war
To feed and lead the flock
And run errands when ever called
Who would have accepted the plan
That the least would be chosen as king?
We all heard of how our last judge
Waited for him in earnest
As the others watched in disappointment
And how the worlds giggled indeed
When the prophet pointed at the least
Before making the oil row down his face
But who can entirely comprehend
The doings of his Grace?
We all saw his enemies fall
When he raised his sword
How he killed two hundred foes
In a countdown of days
Or were we not all singing his praise
When Goliath fell with a pebble in his face?
Indeed, the chronology
Of his rise from grass to grace
Was never an easy one assuredly
Even with a ladder set in place
Running to the battle front
Was how he spent part of his prime
Until his Shepherd made
His enemies his footstool in due time.
