Good Friday by R.
S. Thomas
It was quiet. What had the sentry
and all was not
well? The darkness
began to lift, but
it was not the mind
was illumined. The
carpenter
had done his work
well to sustain
the carpenter’s
burden; the Cross an example
of the power of
art to transcend timber.
Butterfly movement
as though a
rainbow
had taken wing,
falling
with the softness
of light
on our horizon, a
reminder
of Gods’ promise
to layaside wrath. And what,
this moment at gaze
in the afternoon
sun,
we ask, was the nature
of our sin that it
deserved
so beautifully to be
forgiven?
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