“Red as butchered beasts
 Miracle-mongers end;
 Sang the first wound
 In the left hand.

“Yet Pilate’s scroll proclaims him
 King in this land;
 Sang the second wound
 In the right hand.

“Not a man any more,
 A cold blind root;
 Sang the third wound
 In the left foot.

“Yet every cancelled seed
 A laden stalk must shoot;
 Sang the fourth wound
 In the right foot.

“Sweet image of our guilt,
 A girl and an apple;
 Sang the fifth wound