I once pulled oil from my pocket,

and poured it upon the crown.

The smell of nard filled the room,

but my tears it couldn’t drown.

A year’s worth of hard labors,

provoked anger for some.

But the one I wished to honor,

said this would be told for times to come.

It was a preparation that came before,

with no knowledge of what came after.

I faded into the records of history,

even as Golgotha rose to despair and laughter.


Disclaimer: I do not own the imagery used in this blog and have no artistic claim to it.


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