The owner murmured no complaint
It was warm but not yet Eastertide
Which later artists were to paint.
Down dusty roads at leisured gait
Surrounded by palm-waving crowd
He ambled to the fabled Gate
While Hosannas rang out loud.
Imagine what went through His mind
When in the Garden He had prayed
Leaving His sleeping friends behind;
Alone and anxious and betrayed.
In the Upper Room they had no clue
His time of trial would come so soon
But for silver and a kiss He knew
Darkness would descend at noon...
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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