The Remembering

With delicate petals you gently fold open

Turning your face to the warmth of the sun.
Your beauty beholds a story unforgotten
On that fateful day when your legacy first begun.

Upon you, the nails driven into hands and feet

A crown of thorns placed upon the head

To force the One given, His Maker to meet

And then be stripped down to lay among the dead.

But on the third morn after that woeful day

The Saviour rose again in God's full glory

And all those who witnessed were left to say

That this was only the beginning of this miraculous story.

Now as each Spring beckons, the miracle is understood

As your red stained petals serve to remind,

That we have been washed clean by the Saviour's blood

And in the remembering, we are never left behind.

Sharing  today with Imperfect Prose