Remember These Three
With His deathbed, He staggers straight up a bleak hill.
Bless those who will help him as the others stand still.
So reluctant to shoulder the harsh timber He bore,
We all remember his name and the rest we ignore.
This woman’s small gesture in defying the crowd,
Refutes modern science, embossed on a shroud.
Near the end, his expression of truth and belief
Mark him always as good for he died as a thief.
For these smallest of mercies they did for a Lamb
Intercede for us, always, to the one called “I AM.”
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