The Day the Sun Went Down



The day the sun went down, just after noon,
I stood before a man about to die;
I prayed his trial would be finished soon.

I watched the hammer strike – I heard him cry
In anguish for his body’s broken state;
I felt forsaken, too, when he asked, “Why?”

Beneath a darkened sky, he bore his fate
With every bit of dignity and grace;
He did not give himself to rage or hate.

I saw a look of love upon his face –
Despite merciless suffering and pain,
He knew he’d soon prepare for me a place.

His passage left my soul without a stain;
His loss of life became my greatest gain.

© 2004 by Robert E. Blackwell