Mary stood crying, at the foot of the cross;
Trembling and shaking at the blood her son lost.
She tearfully questioned, “God, why must this be,
That you’ve let our son suffer and die on this tree?”  

A soft voice, from Heaven, whispered, “Peace, please, be still.
I know that it hurts you, but it’s my solemn will.
Our son has to die for the world, and it’s sin.
But, you can be rest assured that He will live again.  

Yes, He’ll live, again.  So, rejoice and give praise
As I’ll raise Him up from the tomb in three days.
So, Mary, don’t tremble and weep there for Him.
As His Father, I love Him and He will live again.”  

Mary ran to the tomb on, this, the third day,
Only to find the big stone rolled away.
Yes, He has risen, just the way God had said.
Now His tomb was empty.
He was no longer dead.  

“So, don’t cry, Mary. O’ now, please, don’t you cry.
Your son has arisen, though He had to die.
And you’ll hear His voice now, again and again,
As he whispers, “I love you,” in this hot desert wind.  

(This poem is a metaphor, and not to be taken literally.)   © 2007 by Vickie Lambdin vlambdin@yahoo.com