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Foreword
he cross waited in utter silence,
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her unmoving limbs empty and
barren. Her form was bent and
broken, fashioned by uncaring
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hands into a scaffold of shame. Soon, lost and
violent men would raise her rugged timbers
into the unforgiving skies of Jerusalem.
In their anger and fury they would plunge
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heavy nails into her bark and fasten a
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condemned man onto her frame. She waits
in the shadows while the chilling winds of
Mt. Calvary begin to howl in agony for the
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orr
one who would die in her arms.
JOSEPH M. MARTIN
