Afterhours of a Good Friday

You wept and wailed,
That 'love is not loved'
Like a child on this day.

You touched a cross of wood,
To feel its pain to your breast.
Many called you scrupulous,
For you held a cross like a baby,
And cried to relieve,
A Jesus from his burden!

As we kneel on this pew,
Holding our hands to live a passion,
That the Christ left at this mountain,
Let me tell you  that 'you are not scrupulous'
But serious of a pain,
That only a lover can ever suffer!
This is the secret of resurrection,
That you a Jesus shared with me,
On the after-hours of a Good Friday!