A Crown of Thorns
A beautiful day it started out to be
Until something happened that startled me;
My name is Mija, only 5'4
Not much to look at, not much to adore,
A widow for 10 years in a quiet small town
A town called Jerusalem, with good people all around.
My house is not much, but it's open to all,
In my yard I grow roses, one to four feet tall.
Yes, I'm proud of my flowers, red, yellow, & pink,
And all that pass by me are apt to think;
How nice they would look on their table or sink.
But I do share them with others are they walk by,
A bunch here, a few there, their God's, I can't lie.
But as to my story I was about to tell,
It was a beautiful day as I was drawing water from my well,
To water my roses, a hundred or two
To keep the flowers pretty as visitors pass through.
A man tall and muscular, very handsome at sight,
Drew to my doorstep, he looked very bright.
He said he's a soldier, a Roman by choice,
And was in a big hurry, I could tell by his voice.
"Let me go through your garden of roses dear ma'am,
And I'll pay you well for the trouble I am".
I showed him my red and yellows and pinks,
But dear goodness me, I don't know what to think.
He found some old shrubs, not bearing too well,
No flowers upon them, no flowers to smell.
He grabbed several thorn bushes and said with a frown,
"This will do fine" as he hurriedly left and threw coins to the ground.
Well! What a surprise this was to me,
No pretty flowers he wanted to see.
He did not have to pay for the thorns that he took,
I was just glad to be rid if the sharp little hooks.
As he ran I shouted, "What are the thorns for?"
He said to come to Mt. Calvary early next morn',
So, I went sound to sleep with my coins tucked away,
Hoping to wake bright and early the next day.
Well, I guess I was late, the birds were not singing,
The sun was not shining, church bells were not ringing.
I hurried, got dressed, grabbed a morsel of cake,
Hurried to the Mt. hoping I wasn't too late.
My cake fell to the earth as my knees touched the ground
I cried and I wept with others from everywhere around.
"My thorns" I cried, "My ugly thorns you bought,
You searched not for flowers only thorns you sought,
To put on my Jesus head and brow,
How could you do a thing like this, how?"
My Jesus did good things, all love He did share,
Never once did He harm anyone, doesn't anyone care?
With bitterness in me I ran back to my house,
Grabbed the thorn money, ran back to the cross;
"You keep this money, sir" I demanded
"I want no part of your cruel plan".
Then a woman named Mary, so humble and sweet,
Walked over to me and started to weep.
"You see, Mija," she said "from the very beginning,
God had his plans made to keep us from sinning.
He sent His own Son to die on that tree,
That we no longer be bound to our carnality."
But Jesus is alive, no grave could keep my Lord,
He can reign in our hearts forever, if we just open that door.
We have the gift of life living within us all,
And in time of worry and despair, we have
Someone to whom we may call.
"My goodness, Mary, to think that Jesus did all this for me,
I gladly give my life to Him most happily.
I'm going to share Jesus with each rose that I give,
And tell about Jesus, my savior, that lives."
© 2021 Polly Larsen