Holy Week Poems: The Gift

The Gift

Silently sobbing,
She caressed His weary feet
By washing away the dust
With her tears,
While combing between each toe
With her long, luxuriant hair.

 

Remorse and regret
Engulfed her aching heart,
And her mind was overwhelmed
With thoughts of past failures
And faithless ways.

 

Breaking the sacred seal
On the symbol
Of her streetwise success,
She filled the room
With an amazing aroma
Of richness and rarity.

 

Using all her precious resources,
She shockingly,
Yet humbly,
Anointed His weary head,
Preparing Him
For the painful parting
That was to come.

 

John Stuart

© 2013