Thorn short poem

Photo by William Herron

I cannot bare to see it now!
It’s symbol so forlorn.
The Passion we so fondly show
To place your crown of thorn!
And yet, it harbours life, in droves;
For all things come from you!
This delicate, sense filled, fragrant rose;
So red with heavenly hue!
But when I think of what this is,
What symbol, so forlorn.
To rest on one, that with a kiss
Was forced to wear with scorn.
My prayer to you, O loving Lord
Is look upon my sin!
For I should wear this shameful thorn,
And ask for Love from Him!

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Mark Sandford

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I'm married, fifty seven years of age with two grown up sons. I work at the local railway station in customer service. I have always enjoyed writing poetry and short stories but for the past twenty years I have not written anything because the stream had stopped flowing and had all dried up. Lately someone had admired my recent work and opened up the log jam that had been there all that time and let the stream flow again. It is a great feeling and release.
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