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Poetry from within
   

Fickle is the Crowd

(The First Easter)


The excited crowds had waited

To watch their Saviour pass

The palms tree fronds they gathered

They laid before His ass



They cheered as if He’d conquered

The Romans by Himself

Had banished them forever

And gave them all their wealth



His foes were far from happy

They plotted through the night

They hated this Messiah

Who would not stand and fight



He told His twelve disciples

They had no need to fear

But Judas took their silver

And He knew the end was near



The Romans took Him prisoner

Disciples quickly fled

Denied they ever knew Him

Just like He had said



The commander of the Romans

Did not want Him dead

But the priests demanded Pontius

Should crucify instead



The crowds that cheered on Friday

Now jeered and laughed as He

Dragged His heavy wooden cross

To the hill at Calvary



They laughed at every sickening stroke

Of hammer striking nail

His naked body crucified

His face now drawn and pale



So soon they had forgotten

His wish to set them free

They witnessed all his anguish

That day at Calvary



And as they slowly broke up

They knew what they had done

They’d sinned against their Holy God

And killed His only Son

Don Holmes