Seasons

It was summer in the city
as the crowd became a throng
of excited, eager people;
their voices raised in song
to welcome their Messiah
with branches held up high.
It was summer in the city
as the King came riding by.

It was autumn in the garden
as the Lord knelt down to pray,
for He knew that His betrayer
was already on his way.
But those He loved lay sleeping;
they heard not His anguished cry.
It was autumn in the garden
as the Lord prepared to die.

It was winter on the hillside;
all was dark and black and still.
They had scourged and crucified Him
and the crowd had had its fill.
Then the soldiers who had tortured Him
came back to pierce His side.
It was winter on the hillside
for the Son of God had died.

It was springtime in the garden
when the women came that way,
for they found the tomb was empty
and the stone was rolled away.
And Jesus Christ had risen.
Where, O death, is now your sting?
It is springtime in the garden.
Let us all rejoice and sing.

© Kathleen Wilks