Whistling Through The Wind

Whistling through the wind, they came

Landing squarely on His bare back

Ripping, tearing out chunks of His flesh

A cat-o-nine tails was on the attack

With each brutal stroke, His blood flew

As the man grimaced, endured the pain

Each stroke was worse than the one before

His composure He tried to retain

The whip was covered with His blood

As was the one inflicting the blows

the man was becoming unrecognizable

As from His body, the crimson flowed

The savagery made the onlookers sick

They hid their faces, they were ashamed

An innocent man was accused, convicted

Of blasphemy, he had been falsely blamed

Whistling through the wind they came

Each one enhancing the pain even more

How He withstood it, only he knew

His fate? He knew what was in store

To the cross, He was forced to go

To die there while hanging on a tree

A broken body so horribly crucified

His blood flowing for you and me

When you hear whistling in the wind

Stop and think about what it means

Then remembered what our Savior endured

And how His blood washes us clean

Monday, October 10, 2022