Untitled
by Michael Marchand
They nailed Him to the tree,
On the hill of Calgary.
They nailed Him to the tree,
For the whole town to see.

They left Him there to die,
While the women continued to cry.
They left Him there to die,
And He never questioned why.

After they took Him down,
They removed His thorny crown.
After they took him down,
They buried Him in the ground.



I am always looking for suggested names to my untitled poems, if
you have any ideas, share them with me.

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