His mother, an oasis of life,
gave us the author, the king
who rode into that city
of death, riding only to bring
victory, his gift a trampling
death down by dying, finding
life given in unending loving,
despite that real renting
of fruit tasted and rejected,
earthly power dejected,
by windy palms rooted
deeply, finding water,
grown dates to sweeten
palates with sap’s wine
all framing a pageant
of fronds from stately trees
life, truth hidden, and lost
until the fruiting of the cross…
and all at once, in that garden of tombs,
all trees bowed down and gave her a palm.
She like a palm of the desert,
pond of life taken to Him in anastasis!!!
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Subject: PALM SUNDAY 
Thu Mar 13, 2008 12:24 am
