Soft as a murmur,
passed from ear to ear
from those who had known him,
had followed him
had cared.
The tomb was empty.
Some no doubt,
went to see the place,
a garden tomb,
its stone rolled away,
not in place.
The tomb was empty.
Guards were questioned
who ran away,
facing death
but what could they say?
The tomb was empty.
A certain glow
was upon her face,
That woman who followed him
to the cross that day,
then to his burial place.
The tomb was empty.
Those who ran
and hid away,
something changed them
come that first Sunday.
The tomb was empty.
Like the faintest sound
gathering force
a whisper, a soft voice
growing louder
a thundering chorus:
The tomb is empty!
Resurrexit!
Alleluia!
Amen!
BTTT