POETRY: Six Holy Week Triolets, by L. N. Allen

Thursday

“Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.”
Each of the twelve cried, “Surely, not I?”
“As it was for the fig tree, it will be for the spy—
Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me—
Take, eat, this is my body.”
He broke the bread, he passed the wine.
“Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.”
Each of the twelve cried, “Surely, not I?”

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