Dark night falls on Jerusalem,
The light of day is gone;
And mankind would feign pity them,
The heinous deed is done.
Her streets are hushed of every shout,
The sated mob now sleeps
As, one by one, the lamps go out.
But Peter? He still weeps.
Oh Peter, Peter, tell us why,
Close follower of Christ,
When you were asked, you did deny
You ever knew Him-thrice?
How could one know him like you did,
The chosen of the lot,
From whom He kept no secret hid,
And yet proclaim it not.
But grieve no more, for sinners see
In your denial then,
A pattern clear, and all agree
Such is the trend in men.
As in the moment you were tried,
So with all men forsooth:
It mattered not how how you denied,
You recognised the truth.
Lynette Da Silva
St Ann's
