Good Friday dawns
With brooding skies
And the far-off rumble
Of thunder;
It is as if
Nature revisits
That darkest hour
When Christ was led
To Calvary's crest
And there put to death
Before jeering men
And wailing women;
And as the minutes pass
The storm intensifies,
Growing closer
And angrier,
Until its fury
Is overhead,
Whipping the trees
And battering the house
With ferocious power;
But then,
It passes
Far quicker than it came,
Leaving the rich, sweet scents
Of rain and earth
And springtime
Renewed
And reborn.