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easter sunday

oh, we were busy

martha and i

preparing the feast

before Him

busy in the background

with others still inside

‘don’t You care?’

we asked, indignant

‘don’t You care

i’m up on my feet

while she just

sits at Yours?’

martha complained

‘don’t you care

i didn’t have time

to meet You

this morning?’

i whined

we were run

practically

onto our last nerve

on the verge

of calamity

‘daughter’

He said

the red pits fresh

in His outstretched hands

‘I did not die

for your slavery

your good works

your approval

I rose for

your freedom

your joy

your humility

there is really

only one thing

that matters

quiet, calm yourself

and listen to Me’

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