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Palm Sunday
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By Rich Tassinari
Other Poems by Rich Tassinari


             Palm Sunday

“Hosanna!” singing at the city’s gate,
“Hosanna!” singing in the city’s street,
“Hosanna!” sung by those of us who wait
To praise the King of Peace we’ve longed to greet.
“Hosanna!” sung by many generations
Who passed prophetic words down through the years,
We dance and sing with joy and jubilations
And wipe away our history of tears.
He comes upon a colt, an ass’s foal,
Our simple palms and garments are His road,
Victorious processions for our soul,
We follow to His heavenly abode.
   Our Teacher, Savior, Son of God, and King,
   Our waiting years are over, now we sing!

Rich Tassinari 3/21/2010

 


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Submitted: Sunday, April 13, 2014

Last Updated: Monday, April 14, 2014

About the Poet
Husband, father, grandfather, and each title is my joy. As a youth, poetry was a means to express the inexpressable. I was attracted to (and still am) the beauty and brevity of verse. All flows out from God, and like a proper prayer, can flow back.


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