He could have stayed away from the garden
And its soul searching agony,
He could have left,
Closing the gate firmly behind him.
Instead, His knees imprinted rock
Olive trees rustled their future plans
Blood sweat watered white lilies
And in the depths of His soul He heard them,
He smelled them
He planted the assurance
Of future gardens,
And sits by an open gate.
Beckoning us to enter.
A Tomb in a Garden
Someone moves in the tomb,
The wind picks up the folds of a robe and smooths them
Like a hand on a fevered forehead.
Mary feels the fever of anguish
The weight of despair heavier than the stone
Rolled away from the tomb.
Darkness forms a doorway question mark,
Where is he? She has to find him.
Someone moves in the tomb!
She sees a misty outline in the doorway The gardener!
He would know the answer.
She pleads, “If you have taken him away, tell me where he is, And I will take him with me.”
The wind outlines the man’s beard against his face.
Knowing smooths away her anguish leaving outlines of hope.
“Mary.” His voice rings with love and eternity.
“Master!” Her voice . rings with love and eternity