Muted Hosannas

The gates of the city have lifted their heads
to receive and to welcome the king on his way.
On a donkey he rides and for glory he dies,
hung on a tree, rejected, despised.
We watch without seeing
and we see but we don’t understand
how the victorious king should die like man.
So beat the drum slowly and play the pipes low;
sing muted hosannas for the king on the way.