He Thought of Me

by Margery Stockseth

I am worth the coming down,

the silence

in return for mockery.

I am worth the thorns,

the bleeding back,

the wincing, weakening steps to Calvary.

He suffered these and thought of me.

He could have halted soldiers

with a fiery eye,

And pronounced death

in words that rang

from marble palace walls,

And in the garden dreamed instead of prayed.

But as the glistening crimson beads

slipped from his face,

He thought that I was worth the price he paid.

I’m blind to what

he sees in me,

Yet I know thorns

and what it is

to wince and weaken.

Gethsemane and Calvary—

He suffered so

and thought of me.