He Thought of Me

by Margery Stockseth

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    I am worth the coming down,

    the silence

    in return for mockery.

    I am worth the thorns,

    the bleeding back,

    the wincing, weakening steps to Calvary.

    He suffered these and thought of me.

    He could have halted soldiers

    with a fiery eye,

    And pronounced death

    in words that rang

    from marble palace walls,

    And in the garden dreamed instead of prayed.

    But as the glistening crimson beads

    slipped from his face,

    He thought that I was worth the price he paid.

    I’m blind to what

    he sees in me,

    Yet I know thorns

    and what it is

    to wince and weaken.

    Gethsemane and Calvary—

    He suffered so

    and thought of me.