The road was lined with cloaks and leaves,
with joyful songs upon the breeze,
Hosannas rose from young and old,
as prophecy began to unfold.

Upon a donkey,gentle,mild,
he rode-a King,yet like a child,
no crown of gold,no royal sword,
but peace and mercy were his word.

They waved their palms with voices high,
believing rescue now was nigh,
yet few could see the deeper plan,
the cross ahead for son of man.

A fleeting cheer,a fickle crowd,
some hearts were true, some voices loud-
But love would lead him to the tree,
for all,for us,for you and me.

Palm Sunday comes with joy and grace,
but whispers of a darker place.
Still,in this moment,we proclaim:
Hosanna!Blessed be his name!