The Last Supper
Leaving is never easy.
It seems I've just begun.
How can they possibly be ready?
For this last song to be sung.
Yet, if I stay they will never grow.
I did prepare them well.
One more bite of bread, another sip of wine.
Then one of my own, my life will sell.
What can I leave them? How will they know me?
All they will have left is a crumb.
Yet, in the remnant, there I'll be.
Waiting for those who come.
Is this what it's come down to?
A sigh, a kiss, and, oh, the pain
Then one last breath
And, Abba God, I am home again.
This cross cannot be the end.
But only the beginning.
On life my death must turn.
For them a fortune winning.
Do this in memory of me,
Share our bread.
Do life in memory of me.
By Barbara Zeman