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LAST DAYS

to shouts and songs of joy
and palmed ‘hosannas’
he enters on an ass

he’ll have his royal moment
despite what time dictates
he is a king about to die

some bread, a cup of wine,
beginning of a meal that
cannot end

blood, prayer and olive trees
tell me that
he finds it hard to die

a grey, dishevelled day
in the distance a tree
sways heavy with grief

a day out of time
even nature acknowledges
death’s brief victory

Sun RiseResurrection

that sun-filled morning
of the third day
I went to the tomb
and rolled back the stone

out came the poor and
destitute, the prisoners
Travellers …
the old and forgotten
all blinking in the sunlight
all ready for a new birth

Fr. Gerry McFlynn

Author Fr. Gerry McFlynn

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