The breeze is blowing through the trees
and as I watch the dappled leaves,
all swaying, swinging to and fro,
I think of breezes long ago
that blew across a mountain bare
and found three crosses standing there.
Never did the Roman Centurians know
what had taken place on those crosses low.
Sin and darkness, guilt and shame,
the world would never be the same.
Twas love that was nailed to the cross
an amazing light to show us the way.
© Nov. 2000 Used with permission
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