The Tree Of Gethsemane
She stands tall, while Doves nestle in
by Elaine M. Adams
Gnarled roots grip a rock so bare.
An angelic wind whistles through her branches.
It's midnight. She shouts out a protective
alarm. Her heart wrenches.
HE kneels to pray.
Hold on. Don't let me go. I'll support you.
Wrap your arms around my Olive wood.
I'll be your strength. I'll be your armour.
I'll lead you to the Ocean. I'll lead you
to the shore.
You are placed on my barked arms. Secured
by heavy iron nails.
My trunk enfolds you.
My pulp cushions you.
My Cross bears your weight.
I am THE TREE OF GETHSEMANE.