Holy Frost

An inch not covered,
is an inch not saved.
The branches hold pure,
as the winter stays.

Holy branch and holy trunk,
does thou know the One that plants?
Does thou know ye are dressed in light,
That though they were crimson, they now are white?

Black branches, black stalks, and black roots,
the thunder of heaven knew not you.
You were covered in bark,
and dressed with but a leaf.
Naked you were, and naked you believed.

Yet, not happy with a little,
not content with a fig,
He ascended the hill and took the naked,
In our place He asked “Why, why, forsaken?”

So look at your limbs,
and look at your toes,
the snow clouds of heaven,
on you are bestowed.

You can shake, you can frost,
you can melt for a season,
but the mouth of our Father
will never, whisper “treason”.

Injustice was laid,
on Him who had none.
He bore the shouts, the shames,
and the shuns.

Lift up your voices,
the morning now spreads.
Bethlehem bears One,
who will raise the dead.

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