Fame on Friday

They all bowed low

As I passed by,                                

And called me Lord

Much hue and cry.

Followers

From many lands

Came to listen

Kissed my hands.

Soon all changed

The rabble, boss:

Nailed me

To a wooden cross.

The laurel crown

Above my head

Has fallen down

Its leaves are dead

And no one comes

Here, night or day,

Not even to sweep

The leaves away.