By Fr. Jacob Boddicker, SJ

“Tear down this temple,” the April Fool cried,
“and on the third day shalt I raise it up.”
On an ass did he come, crowd-hailed, then hied
to a quiet place with his friends to sup.
“This bread is my Flesh; this wine is my Blood,”
yet to all ‘twas no change in look or taste.
Though claimed he divine, heeded not ill-brood
of one there, silver-swayed, who’d lay him waste.
The Fool who dared to trust, abandoned was
to mock and spit, blood and bone, agony,
then though innocent bore he his own cross
‘fore enthroned a sad lord on Calvary.
“The jester king!” laughed they, those people cruel;
but on day three proved they the April fools.