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He was so short – Zacchaeus was his name.
Chief tax collector loathed of Jericho,
Heared of a wonderworker and now came,
To see the man himself,- incognito.
The shortness of his stature disallowed
A viewing of Him and the scenery,
Impossible it was to pick Him out
Among the crowds - a sheer futility.

And so he climbed up on the nearest tree,
A sycamore with branches strong and fit
From which so short a man like him could see,
And at the same time comfortably sit.
To see the man folks talked so much about
Zacchaeus felt a sudden urgency,
But he was short, and tall the pressing crowd
That felt for tax collectors not much sympathy.

For sympathy his chances were so dim,
A tax collector rarely finds a friend,
The more he taxed, the more they hated him.
His visage, and his money grabbing hands.
And friendship’s warmth was nowhere to be found,
In his rich mansion where he kept his gold,
No smiles from people when he made his round,
He met their stares, inimical and cold.

Some shallow pockets more to squeeze and bleed,
Such was Zacchaeus’ purpose and intent,
Compliance with Rome’s law, admixed with greed,
He was disliked and spurned wherever he went.
They hated him, his occupation and his rank
Of friends and hearty comrades he had none
Some Elders said his grasping fingers stank
Chief racketeer, not worth a herringbone

A man like him would be inquisitive,
And piqued besides by curiosity,
Perhaps the man was worthy of belief,
He’d take the Rabbi under scrutiny.
He’d healed a blind man, so some people said,
And rumors more did circulate and spread,
He’d raised a little girl from the dead,
Restored to sanity a chap full mad.

The climb was done, and he could take a peek,
By leaves and foliage and branches hid,
Down on the loud gesticulating crowd
To watch the goings on from his high seat.
Zacchaeus plied his so detested trade,
Since many years, he went from door to door,
Collecting taxes mornings until late,
Thus needed refuge in a sycamore.

With nimbleness Zacchaeus climbed yet higher,
To thus inhibit a discovery;
For tax collectors rouse the people’s ire.
They are the last thing people want to see
To undertake a thorough inquiry.
He could discern the Master’s countenance
Whose face and features showed benignity,
His words cast spells upon the audience.

He heard a voice resounding from below,
A voice compliant yet imperative:
“Come down, come down Zacchaeus from your bough,
"It is not safe! – do something positive!".
"Command your servants to get food and wine,"
"Prepare a meal, and take me to your home".
"For in you house I wish to wine and dine,"
"This evening, - so hurry up come down"!

He clambered down delighted of his luck,
The wonderworker visiting his home,
He'd hit the jack, beholdf!- the crackerjack,,
For swindlers in the interest of Rome..
Zacchaeus by the offered honor struck,
To give half of his assets volunteered,
And opened wide his tax collector sack,
While the assembled throng rejoiced and cheered.

This tax collector when he needed most
Of human solidarity a sign,
Was chosen to well entertain and host
The Lord Himself by His largesse divine.
Dinner was great - with generosity
Zaccheus opened wide his assets' cove.
To give therefrom with magnanimity -
The lonely cheater had at last found Love.

Luke 19: 1-10

© Elizabeth Dandy