
A Poem for Holy Saturday
—
Waves of despair
Crash our tired shore
The tides of war
Have drowned our king.
—
With him our hopes
Of which we’d sing
Death’s mighty sting
Keeps far at bay.
—
Our king is dead.
Since yesterday
His body lay
On ocean’s floor.
—
We’ll never hear
Him knock our door
Or bless the poor
Again. Unless…