Saturday’s Mourning In Glory

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Entombed in the thickest of forests He lay,

donning a shroud of cool, deadened leaves.

Limbs that once held the glorious weight of the world

lie scattered about the sacred grounds.

Branches that once shouldered the burden of the blame

had broken from the main, and still the vines held fast.

Everything for which He stood — a scheme inside a dream

His crowning achievement — a sacrificial theme

‘Twas all laid to rest beside the petrifying flesh of his ancestors.

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Many a number of trees in these woods had been borne of his seed.

Year after year, they continued to fill the avoided spaces with new life.

Surrounding Him now, one by one,

they began to pay homage to His grandeur.

The critters nearby crept forth in a slow procession,

whilst the raven kept his quiet,

keeping a keen eye on the softly landing white doves.

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‘Twas the perfect mourning for the painful,

exacting moments to spring forth and reclaim their royal birthrights.

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