Before the Third Cross
Before the third cross, there
were tears that stained the
ground...drops of sweat as
blood falling...the harsh, cutting
lashes of a Roman whip.
Before the third cross there
was a plea for release, yet a yielding
to what must be.
Before the third cross He knew
my name.
Before the third cross He knew
yours too.
He carried it anyway.
©Karen Newman Fridy 2009
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