A man was crucified. He came to the city a stranger, <br />was accused, and nailed to a cross. He lingered hanging. <br />Laughed at the crowd. "The nails are iron," he <br />said, "You are cheap. In my country when we crucify <br />we use silver nails. . ." So he went jeering. They <br />did not understand him at first. Later they talked about <br />him in changed voices in the saloons, bowling alleys, and <br />churches. It came over them every man is crucified <br />only once in his life and the law of humanity dictates <br />silver nails be used for the job. A statue was erected <br />to him in a public square. Not having gathered his <br />name when he was among them, they wrote him as John <br />Silvernail on the statue.<br /><br />Carl Sandburg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silver-nails/
