Cross

I, tree, by seed to grow up tall,

my destiny begun.

How could I know my purpose

in killing God’s own son.

If I had known, I gladly would

to lightening – invite

to end my growth by fire

before the fire’s light.

But I was not so lucky

to end another way,

so when they nailed Him to me,

my knots lament the day.

Oh God, I pray forgive me.

I ache to know the rest –

wish never born at all on earth,

my God’s instrument of death.