Palm Sunday

Behold, behold:
They sway,
They fill the fragrant air
With waving signs of life.
The breeze between the palm tips flits
And finds a world in flux
A gentle motion that will swell
To reach the clamour known
As death.
But now, still life
The sun still out
A hero who will be cast down,
A teacher with an unheard voice
Until it echoes down the years
And after death brings life rejoiced.
A friend who will be friendless,
The God of loneliness.
But now
But here
They coat the ground with life and sing
Unto a soon-rejected King

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