coat is this? Where has it come
from? The heaviness of it, this cloak in the storm,
lies in a crumpled heap, wet from the storm. It is soggy from the rain, and from lying in the
want it? Why was it thrown
off? Did it drop from a pack?
Did someone passing lose it?
must have covered shoulders and kept someone warm. Is it torn?
Are these the stains caused by blood?
Looking at this cloak so worn,
and now ruined, Or
should I too cast it down and trample it under?
What a waste it is, a companion of the ditch.
my hands though, I feel a sense of need
It makes me wonder what sort once wore such a rag;
a desire to save it from all this thunder
Iím sure it wasnít anyone that was rich.
Do I ring it out and let it dry?
here? Where is the owner?
Itís life soaks through me and my own clothes
take on its loss.
Surely he did
not rip it and throw it down!
Is that what occurred? Was someone robbed?
Was it stolen?
Was it lost to a wager?
To give this coat up to the road, what was the
Was there a
fight? Does a crime follow this
feel its wetness as I hold it close.
There is hatred here, jealousy and betrayal.
will seek the truth, I will find the answer.
This evidence is clearly from a
place of the dead. I
wonít leave it like the one before
Yet, I feel no pity, the shame is gone.
This cloak is what was. No longer death, but
alive instead. His
clothes. This cloak.
And did he even give of much more?
was this man that gave all he had?
I will take this wrap, and in bringing it up,
Iíll turn from the way Iím going,
My life has found new purpose.
in life afresh, find what I am after
Who gave up this cloak in the storm for me?
Iíll start with the one the other day, the one
they called Jesus.
I know Iíll find its rightful owner and Master.
heart is changed by a rag in the road,
A Rag In The Road by Ronhales
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