A smart kid, he was;
As he grew, in knowledge he flew.
He even taught his elders some proverbs,
Everyone asked for his father, the carpenter;
Who marveled as well at his son.
With water turning into wine,
His crown as King of Kings and Lord of Lords he wore,
And it so fitted.
Fishes he caught without using a net,
Just spoken word like poetry
And soon everyone became fishers of men.
At age thirty three,
He was traded for a kiss
A kiss from a rose
And so he rose for our victory.
But before he rose and ascended
A tragic thing happened to this young man.
He was hung on the cross with two rugged bandits;
The scars of brutality
Who can treat? No nurse!
His blood painted many city streets
And soon it became a pool of flood.
He was so beaten
He was so weak
Helpless were his folks who watched him die.
The cock crowed thrice
How his dear friend feared to die so he lied!
Sadly, he was without a child of his own
Without a woman to hold;
He was so murdered in front of his mother.
Oh no! His wish for a long life was cut short.
So sad it was for a Friday,
But we call it Good Friday.
How?
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