Poem by Wayne Hepburn

Away, Away

The stone was rolled away; away.
In the night, it might, it must,
Have been some thieves at play!
His body's gone, away; away.
How could this be?

What worries me
Is what was done, was done.
How could the stone have moved,
Have come ... undone?
Unless the One
We buried there has proved
To be the one true Son.

Proved to be the One foretold,
By holy men since days of old;
And now I see the empty place,
Where laid, then rose,
Our human race.

His body's gone away; away,
Until some far enchanted day
When He returns, for me; for me.

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