Poetry: The Cross

What does it mean this wood
So stained with blood
This tree without a root
That bears such fruit?
This tree without a leaf So leaved with grief?
What does its height proclaim
Whose height is shame,
Its piteous arms outspread,
Where death lies dead
And in the midst a heart
Cleft wide apart?
Though blind, I cannot miss
The meaning this,
My sinís stupendous price
His sacrifice!