Tuesday, 16 June 2009


I sat against you sweet hawthorn tree
Your leafy canopy shading me
Whiling away the peaceful day
In warming heat of early May

Listening to the blackbird sing
Her song of praise in joy of spring
I saw your blossoms white as snow
Dance in breeze soft and slow

In summer days I passed you by
You stood serene beneath cloudless sky
Then in autumn mist your berries red
Were decked like rubies upon your head

When biting frost coated winter morn
Your branches bare with piercing thorn
I gaze at you sweet hawthorn tree
What truths of gospel you tell to me

Your blossoms white swaying soft and slow
Speak of the One purer than snow
Hanging from a branch as He bled
His blood running down like your berries red

What sharpness in your fiercesome thorn
Like ones that crowned Him on that morn
Then took Him out to crucify
On bark of tree beneath eastern sky

Your buds that open up in spring
Speak of new life this truth you bring
His life renewed and new life for me
These things you tell sweet hawthorn tree

Colin Moffett

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