Sunday Women
What to make of stories
Blurred by twenty centuries?
How to make some sense
Of something so extraordinary?
When the witnesses
Couldn’t quite agree
On what they’d heard and seen
Surely it’s a mystery?
God bless the folk who know now
With conviction and with certainty
What the women folk had witnessed
In a Sunday morning cemetery.
Feed me questions not the answers
Because indeed my humble duty
Is to walk the path along a journey
Leading where the truth may find me.
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