The Hour Of Shadows

In asylum 'neath the olive tree He looked up.
"Please, Father, take from me this bitter cup."
For this He had no thirst, no wish to sup.

The hour of shadows, indeed is here
Magnifying terror and abject fear.
Oppressive darkness cannot cloak the rampant tear.

Feathered messenger of morn, He hears your cry,
Heralding a comrade to deny.
Yet, what drove him to his choice he knew not why.

Mid furtive gathering something is amiss.
Then, slowly, one approached. What evil this
Dare place upon His cheek the traitor's kiss?

In humility and pain He left the grove
To face the crucible, His chance to prove
The meaning of His message, eternal love.