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© 2000-2004 by Carol Dee Meeks

His holes enlarge as torment grows
on wooden cross of ancient ways.
His mother sees.  His pain she knows.
Her agony remains for days.

On wooden cross of ancient ways,
between two thieves they number Him.
Her agony remains for days.
The Christ now dies, no broken limbs.

Between two thieves they number Him
where one accepts, the other spurns.
The Christ now dies, no broken limbs,
with truths for one of them who learns.

Where one accepts the other spurns,
and one is near, the other far
With truths for one of them who learns
Within, without, He knows our mar.

And one is near, the other far.
His mother sees.  His pain she knows.
Within, without, He knows our mar.
His holes enlarge as torment grows.

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