Jonathan leaned on Jesus’ breast
And breathed in out a sigh
And on his friend’s behest, he asked
The question that no other could get by.
And Jesus spoke no mystery
No story did he tell
And though plain, ‘twas secretly
So none would know, save those who know him well.
Mirriam rose when she was bid
And came before her Lord.
She said in quiet, a few still words
He had already heard before.
And Jesus wept, cried bitterly
At the pain that he had caused
He saw her heart, that loved him dearly
And knew no other law.
The others left.
The Magdelene, she stayed
And though she shuddered silently
Her heart was not afraid.
A gardener’s voice:
The victor spoke her name
He put off triumph that he might touch
The life he died to save
neumatikos 