Good Friday

I know I'm a little early but here is me being a poet. I'm also out of town, so stay tuned till next week.









Good Friday

At your feet I lay my love.
A head hung in shame
from the site of the old tree.

One of three
pieces, a broken frame
at your feet I lay. My love.

It is a mystery
how I AM came
from the site of the old tree.

To open my eyes and see
at your right a Notre Dame
at your feet. I lay. My Love.

A beloved as if he
wished the same
from the site of the old tree.

Then to die and free
the world of vain.
At your feet I lay. My love
from the site of the old tree.