It is a tool for battle
A symbol of saving grace
Jesus was crucified on it
And I imagine the cross,
Its portion inside the ground
As like the tip of a sword
Its sharp and spiked end
Plunged into the dirt,
Its horizontal part
As the quillon, the crossguard
Of its majestic knife

Who was on that cross
Was a Man that was pierced
His hands and feet
His head with thorns
And, lastly, right into his side
But it is he, in return,
That can pierce
And penetrate the hardest
Of men and women
With his love