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fart 1
THE CROSS
The dogwood trees are everywhere in bloom
In stages, from pale unfurled green to snowy white,
With rusty crescents at each petal tip To mimick marks of nails at the site.
?Tis said the cross was hewn from the body of this tree, And hoisted to a mountain-top, for all the world to see
The Christ, our Saviour?s darkest hour.
His crown of thorns, his nail-marked palms.
The blood stained robe, and tear dimmed eyes,
That joyful sorrow of Psalms.
Yes, the dogwood trees do bloom again,
But the trunks are gnarled and bent.
The branches are scrawny and twisted as if in pain And the blossoms white with rust-tipped crescent.
No Cross can be hewn now from such a tree,
No need for another to be
For the Lord did it all many years ago When He laid down his life for me.