Hosanna!

'You are our King! ' they cry,
spreading palm boughs at his feet
as he is carried in through the city gates
on a borrowed donkey's back.
'Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! '

'This seed must die! ' He sighs,
Holding a grain of wheat against the sky,
And looking them with compassion in the eyes.
'But by its death your stony hearts
can turn to flesh and live. The dead will rise! '
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!

'Get rid of Him! ' they scream,
Pounding his trembling form with stony words,
As He is led out through the city gate,
bowed under the weight of a rough-hewn beam.
'We'll have no one but Caesar as our king! '
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!

by Roger Marshall

Other poems of MARSHALL (3)

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