We were ready with the palms,
Ready for the triumphant entry,
Ready with our welcome,
Ready to celebrate Your visit, Lord
But there is a sick feeling
We might not see You again,
That this will be Your last visit,
That You will not return from Passover.
We are warmed by Your presence, Lord,
Feel good about Your time with us
And fear we cannot bear
The barren emptiness of Your absence.
These palms are for burning in sorrow,
Yet maybe the flames hold memory.