Wooden Reminder

Some people think we worship,
An old rugged wooden cross.
They laugh at us and say it was,
The way they killed our boss.


It could have been a hangman's noose,
A spear or sharpened sword.
It could have been a heavy rock,
They used to kill my Lord.


It could have been an arrow's tip,
The blade of someone's knife.
It could have been a pit of flames,
They used to take His life.


I know they do not understand,
To them it makes no sense.
It's not the instrument of death,
It's what it represents.


It could have been so many things,
To cause my Lord His loss,
But the thing that I remember most,
He gave it on a CROSS.

[ by James A. Kisner © 2001 (PoppyK1@aol.com) -- {used with permission} ]