By Pray Eucha Titus
A child walked with her father towards their home.
Along the way, he plucked a few roses that bloomed,
And gave it to his sweet little child
Excited she held on to the roses tight
Though the roses’ beauty made her bloom,
The thorns on them pierced through her skin
“It hurts, my father” she cried
The father said
“Just a little while, my child”
“Hold on and do not let go”
As they traversed through the thick forest,
He plucked other roses and replaced the ones she held.
They were bigger roses with bigger thorns
Her hands bled as thorns pierced through.
“Just a little while, my child do not let go” said the father again
She cried a little and complained sometimes
But never let her father or the roses go.
When they reached their blessed abode (Home),
He took away the roses from her hands.
While she showed to her father her bleeding palms peeled and bruised,
She cried “My father, My dear Lord, Why and Why?”
Quietly, the father showed His hands to his child
It was His nail pierced hand wounded on the cross
He said “My dear child, I Love you”