in the quiet of the garden, dark and still
where shadows dance upon the silent hill
a lone figure kneels, burdened with care
in fervent prayer, with words laid bare
Gethsemane, where anguish grips the soul
and agony's waves relentlessly roll
yet in this garden of profound despair
resides a sacred, whispered prayer
"Father," He cries, with trembling breath
"Let this cup pass, if it be thy will, not death"
sweat falls like blood, in the midnight air
in the Garden of Gethsemane's prayer
His friends asleep, unaware of the strife
while He, the Lamb, faces the knife
yet in submission, He bows His head
"Thy will be done," the words He said
in that sacred moment, amidst the gloom
Angelic presence breaks the tomb
strength from heaven, to endure and bear
in the Garden of Gethsemane's prayer
oh, may we learn, in our darkest hour
to yield to love's redeeming power
to find, in surrender, solace rare
as we pray in our own Gethsemane's lair
for in the garden, where tears are sown
hope blossoms, though we feel alone
and through our trials, we become aware
of the grace found in Gethsemane's prayer
***
Solo, Thu, 28th March 2024. 8:45 pm
Suko Waspodo