He seemed to have dropped from the sky,

No memory or thought of an earlier time.

A gift he had, a gift from god,

The gentle giant with a loving heart.

Guilty of nothing but judged just the same,

A healing hand, a gift with a burden.

His name was John, a miracle of god,

A sentence of death although a good man.

Soon he would die, a chance to be set free,

The gift that he had made him tired and weak.

But how could one of gods miracles be of any evil sort,

His name was John, never did he do anything wrong,

One of gods miracles has died and gone.

Keith Garrett

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