This is My Blood


© 2009 Jeanne E Webster. All Rights Reserved and Observed.



Have you ever had “wondering” days

When you sit and reflect upon things?

Certain thoughts will linger and laze,

And before you know it, take wings.


I wondered about Mary today,

The mother of Christ Jesus, our Lord.

She tarried with intent to stay,

(Heart and soul of woeful accord),


That day when they took Jesus, her son.

They mangled him then nailed him fast.

Judas betrayed this holy One

For silver that would never last.


She tarried there on that blood-soaked hill,

Weeping… wanting so to hold her boy.

She knew his body they did kill

But never his spirit destroy.


His ravaged flesh taken from the tree;

Mary’s tears flowing with his blood.

She cradled him so lovingly

As the soil churned into red mud.


His corpse, taken to a tomb quite near,

Was wrapped up in spices and herbs.

Mary trudged home with Sabbath tears,

Her heavy heart greatly disturbed.


Do you think underneath all that dirt,

Does that hill still preserve hallowed mud…

The evidence of Mary’s hurt—-

Her tears mingled with Jesus’ blood?