Palms waved, a King to see,
Multitudes eager to bend their knee.
Joyous, expectant, loud their cry,
Christ, meek, mild, on a foal passes by.
Cloaks and palms they lay on the ground,
In a week, not a friend to be found.
He didn't arrive, earthly king to be,
Spurned, they would hang Him on a tree.
His kingdom, not visible to their eye,
Veiled and hidden, till after He would die.
Innocent, Pure, His life He laid aside,
In dying, bringing multitudes to abide.
Lifeless body laid in a borrowed tomb,
Mankind's monument to despair and gloom.
On the third day a woman came to see,
To prepare her Lord's body, broken on that tree.
Vacant, empty tomb is what she did find,
Questions, despair on her mind.
Turning around, she finds her Lord,
Wanting to clutch Him, her Jesus adored.
I am always blessed by your poems.
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