"Like a mother, He cried" | Holy Monday

For this Holy Week, I will share a poem a day. I’ll be writing drafts basically every day so don’t judge me too harshly if the poems are average. Palm Sunday's poem can be found here; note: there are no for sure events for Holy Monday, so I simply wrote a poem about something that probably happened before Easter.

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You went up the hill.                                                                                                                                                      You went past the gates.                                                                                                                                                You stood afraid because the city would fall.

Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem,

You went past the tree.                                                                                                                                                    You left the nation’s icon.                                                                                                                                             You cursed the figs because the tree bore no fruit.

How I longed to gather you.

You went past the chiefs.                                                                                                                                              You were cast to the ground.                                                                                                                                       You spoke to Greeks because it was the hour of the Son of Man.

And now your city is left,

Your tears were shed.                                                                                                                                                    You spoke like mother.                                                                                                                                                    You said woe, woe, because their hearts closed off.

Not one stone will be left.