Son Of Sorrow
He walked beneath the olives’ shade,
In silence, deep as night’s descent,
With all the world’s great sorrows laid
Upon His shoulders, meekly bent.
The wine He poured, the bread He broke,
He shared with love, though none would see
That He would bear the final yoke,
And lift the weight of misery.
Blood and water, mingled, flowed—
A gift, unbound, to light the road.
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