What Easter Means To Me: the Legionnaire's Account

All dressed in purple like a king, The man was spat at, flogged and mocked, And forced to carry his own cross, As witnessed by the crowds that flocked. I listened to their hateful words, And wondered what his crime had been, I felt compassion for the man: The stoutest victim I had seen. I offered wine, which he refused - But gratitude was on his face - I muttered, ‘Sorry I’ll be quick,’ And sadly nailed him into place. His cross was raised at nine o’clock. He suffered much; his mother cried. I prayed to my gods for the end. At three o’clock the brave man died.