Stranded ‘round an ancient Olive tree

there wends collected history from lives:

the truth that now remains in memory.

And here within this garden there survives

a tree that lived to feel it’s maker’s touch,

that heard the earnest prayers, the shouts the strives

the babbing brash that woke the sacred hush,

berating godly pleas with garish grate,

and swept away the righteous in its rush.

It saw the Savior, standing at the gate

desiring life, but drinking passion’s cup—

the lonely dark of treason, fear, and hate.

For here began the final victory:

the Son of Man who’d save humanity.  

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Photo by Rafael Rodrigues: https://www.pexels.com