Poetry

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Before the birth, Father prepared Him a bed.
He then was born, as God created.
The young Boy played. Father gave Him drink and bread,
And nurtured Him, as He created.

This young Man grew. Father taught Him every thread,
And trained Him up, as He created.
This Man had served. Father's love was widely spread,
to the masses, as He created.

This Man was tried. Father's love had never fled,
from all people, as He created.
This Man was whipped. Father held Him as He bled,
and to the cross, as He created.

His Son was hung. Father's wrath was on His head,
first became last, as He created.
Dead and buried, Father lifted Him instead,
Last became first, as He created.

Yet now I live. Who knows my road ahead?
Those questions cry, as He created.
So I take up my cross - and am faithfully led,
in His image, as He created.

©2007 louis gander (10-15-07) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
www.ganderpoems.org/

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