In the arid desert
'neath burning sun.
My life, it seems,
has
just begun.
A daily life
of sleep and wake,
as seasons pass,
stood by this
lake.
My branches stretch,
my roots grow deep.
Within my shade
some
people sleep.
Some fishermen,
a teacher too
prayed and spoke
of life
anew.
Thousands came,
His word had spread.
A boy supplied
some fish
and bread.
A miracle
we all did see.
He fed them all
by Galilee.
They used a boat
the lake to cross,
a storm blew up
they
thought they'd lost.
The Man arose
and spoke with Faith,
the storm died down.
They
all were safe.
I do remember
what I saw
before being cut down
and put in
store.
Three years passed by
while down I lay
'til a carpenter came
on
one fine day.
He shaped by length
with skill and grace,
a cross piece
fixed
and bound in place.
I was then borne
on one man's back
along the streets
midst
baying pack.
Up on the hill
we made our way.
I'd little thought
for the part
I'd play.
The man was stripped
and tied to me,
to be crucified
by Roman
Decree.
Through hand and foot
they drove some nails.
No screams of
pain,
no cries, no wails.
A memory
from mind far sunk
"This man had
slept against my
trunk."
and now he draws
His last sweet breath.
I'm holding Him!
He
slips to death!
His blood it trickles
down my grain
supplying moisture
once
again.
But what a price
for life anew!
Whyfor His death?
For me? For
you?
The Tree written by Gary Coy
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page last updated 26 FEBRUARY 1997