Sunday's Poem: Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday

The crowds part before Him,
faces joyful
as they strew His path
with precious cloaks,
sacrificed for Him,
now trampled into the dank mud.
They pull fronds from nearby palms,
laying them in the streets or
swishing them through the fetid air
with jubilation.
"Hosanna!" they shout --
"Blessed is He who cometh
in the Name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest!"

Seated atop
the donkey's colt,
He cannot share in the crowd's joy.
His eyes focus a few days into the future
when these cheering voices will howl,
faces contorted with hatred,
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"

His eyes well with tears,
and as one spills down His face,
He whispers,
"Forgive them, Father,
for they know not what they do."

(c) 2009 Susanne Barrett