He Thought of Me

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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.