"Good Friday"

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 that day,
an amazing light to show us the way.

by  Alexandra Webb
© Nov. 2000 Used with permission
Read more of Alexandra's poetry Here