Poetry

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Across the open countryside,the grass is green,and ever wide;
amidst the spaces some trees do stand,they look quite keen,one
stands out amongst the others,its thorns would give much more than just some shivers,their spikey sharpness with much intent,
some silently may catch the eye,on looking up towards the sky,
a crown of thorns was made THE SON OF GOD,wore them on a cross
of wood,by his own pain he can explain,the sins of man are loss,
not gain;hence the reason our GOOD LORD ,endured all pain,the
blows on hands,and feet,the piercing lance in his side,where
blood and water,soon poured out,should leave all of mankind in no
doubt,death don't have the final say,have FAITH IN GOD,for
JESUS CHRIST,returns on final judgement day,may we all hope and
pray.
Joe.

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