In the whispering wind Along Jerusalem’s ancient terraces Weeps the early spring rain
An all-night trial unfolds Denigrating accusations hurled Until dawn arrives, veiled Shielding your exhausted frame
The fig tree, once barren Now sprouts tender shoots Grand and holy is the temple Taken up by a motley crew High priests and officials Soldiers and passersby (But what does it matter?)
The mockery’s cruelty Is weighed by the cross’ heft The Via Dolorosa stretches on Measured by your faltering steps (But who truly comprehends?)
Lush grass paints the horizon green, Intermittent wails pierce the chilled air Behold! Scanning the mass below You say, don’t cry for me