I am a lowly donkey, gray and small,
With dusty hooves that trod the ancient road.
They laid their cloaks upon my humble back,
And suddenly the cheering crowd roared loud.

“Hosanna! Blessed is the King who comes!”
They cried as palm branches waved like flames.
I felt His gentle weight, so light, so calm—
The Creator riding on my simple frame.

His hands that formed my ears, my stubborn will,
Now rested soft upon my shaggy mane.
Each step I took became a sacred thrill;
The stones themselves seemed eager to proclaim.

I carried Him who made the earth and sky,
The King of kings upon a beast so plain.
No soldier’s burden, no merchant’s heavy load—
But Love itself, who chose the meek to reign.

They say that every donkey since that day
Bears a dark cross upon his shoulders wide—
A shadowed cross of hair along the spine,
A mark of honor, not a curse to hide.

It is the memory of that glorious morn,
When heaven’s parade passed through the city gate.
I walked in triumph, though my heart was torn—
For soon that King would face a crueler fate.

Yet when they raised Him on the wooden beam,
Some part of me still lingered at His side.
The cross I wear is light, for it has seen
The day my Maker deigned to be my ride.

I bray my praise beneath the evening sky,
A rough and ragged song, both joy and plea.
For one brief day I was His throne on high—
A humble donkey, chosen royally.

The cross upon my back I proudly bear,
For it recalls the honor of His trust.
To carry my Creator through the air
Of cheering palms— that memory is enough.