....of course their brother never would discuss
What he had known in those four days and nights.
His lips were sealed. He'd once call hypocrites:
'White-washed sepulchres rank with rottenness,'
But in his case, although he stank, his flesh
Did not decay. His sisters were confused
And not sure what to feel. Had they been used?
Could suffering be vanquished with a wish?
Now he must die again, as must we all.
The blackness of the tomb, although deferred,
Awaits. Next time there'll be no magic word,
No death-disturbing call, no miracle.
Distressed, I watched them roll away the stone
And wondered as he groped towards the sun.