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Mary Magdalene. The Last Supper.
Mary Magdalene. The last supper.
The last day I combed Christ’s hair
I knew I truly loved him,
It was matted and tangled, I believed there and then that we were not all perfect people.
Nobody was.
I always liked a happy thought,
But I knew his mind could be dark and disagreeable,
His hair was stubborn and coarse
Like a Roman Soldiers mood.
As I pulled down hard to rid the tugs
I was aware of jealous eyes
As Judas Iscariot walked by.
His stony look said it all.
He would cut the Devils hair
If it meant he could kiss Christ’s cheek.
